


Running in Slow Motion

by sunsetmog



Series: Rugby verse [2]
Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Established Relationship, First Time, Gay Straight Alliance, High School, Homophobia, M/M, Rugby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-24
Updated: 2011-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 79,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New relationships are hard, especially when Spencer doesn't have a clue what he's doing. He's trying to juggle having a boyfriend with being the flyhalf, and that doesn't leave much time for schoolwork and hanging out with Ryan. Can Spencer figure out what's going on with Brendon, stop Ryan freaking out because Jon's leaving, and also get around to having sex for the first time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running in Slow Motion

**Author's Note:**

> Rugby verse. Sequel to [You Can Sit Beside Me (When The World Comes Down)](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/43459.html) and runs alongside some of the events in my companion story, [L.O.V.E](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/55103.html). You don't need to read L.O.V.E to read this, but it might help to read You Can Sit Beside Me.
> 
> (For those of you who remember that I once posted a short pwp sequel to You Can Sit Beside Me, this story ignores that. Yes, that's right, I rebooted my own verse. It's still up on my fic journal, but it isn't compatible with the events of this story.)
> 
> Next, a big thank you to harborshore and fictionalaspect for helping me whip this final draft into shape. Thanks also to insunshine for her beta and to those other people along the way who answered my questions and helped with much earlier drafts. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.
> 
> This has been a _very_ long time in the making. boweryd let me chatfic this to her before I'd even posted the first story, so I've been thinking about it for a while now. She, along with katie_pillar, ohohstarryeyed, and reni-days have all read this a ridiculous number of times over the past few months and have put up with me emailing them every time I'd written a new scene. Or a new line. (These guys are great. ♥)
> 
> And thank you to my wonderful artist and mixers. ♥ Bonus content for this story can be found [here [artwork]](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/62575.html) and [here [fanmixes]](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/62295.html).
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/65438.html) at my fic journal on 9th June 2011.
> 
> Warning: underage sex (characters are seventeen).

Ryan is in Spencer's bedroom when Spencer gets home from school after rugby practice.

In fact, not only is he hanging out in Spencer's room when Spencer isn't even home _,_ he's sitting at Spencer's computer, drinking Spencer's secret supply of Coke, and eating Spencer's private collection of emergency gummy worms. If this didn't happen every day of the week Spencer would be _pissed_. Instead, he just has another, more-secret hiding place for his real secret supply of Coke and gummy worms, inside his closet in a box marked _Third Grade Science Project_.

"You're out of Coke," Ryan says, waving his hand at Spencer's bottom drawer, where Spencer keeps his not-so-secret Coke supply. Spencer gets his mom and dad to buy extra so that there's always enough for Ryan, too. His dad had tried to sit him down and explain that 'secret supply' meant that Spencer should maybe go down to the store on his bike and pay for it himself, rather than expect his parents to add it to their shopping list, but Spencer wasn't about to start doing that when he could get away with _this_.

"Doesn't matter," Spencer says, to Ryan. His dad's going to the store later on, he's pretty sure, and he has half a bag of gummy worms left in the closet anyway. Spencer toes off his sneakers and kicks them under the bed. He'll straighten them up later, when Ryan's not around to make fun of him. Being neat doesn't make Spencer a freak, no matter how many times Ryan says it.

"I've finished the stuff in your closet, too." Ryan says, without looking up. He's concentrating on something on Spencer's computer, and he ignores Spencer's squeak of outrage in favor of clicking furiously with the mouse.

Spencer feels the loss of his Coke more than he should, he thinks. He needs that Coke. That Coke is his _lifeline_. "I think I hate you," Spencer says, miserably.

"You think you could remember to buy Sour Patch Kids next time? I'm bored of gummy worms."

"Ryan," Spencer says, collapsing face-first in a heap on his bed. He is going to die from lack of nourishment. This is _awful._ " _Ryan_. Ryan." He half-heartedly kicks at the back of Ryan's chair with one foot, and makes a crappy job of taking his backpack off without moving. When he finally manages it, he rolls over in self-congratulation, and knocks his bag off the bed and on to the floor. His homework goes everywhere. He makes a face. "Ryan."

"I heard you the first time," Ryan says, without turning around. He's typing something on Spencer's computer, but Spencer can't be bothered to sit up and see what. He can't do anything without Coke. He's like overcooked spaghetti without it. "I'm not _deaf_."

"Stupid, maybe," Spencer complains. He kicks the back of Ryan's chair again. " _Ryan_. Stop ignoring me."

Ryan makes a noise in his throat. "You're so annoying," he says, finally turning around. "What's wrong? Did you miss a touchdown or something?"

Spencer does his best to use his measured, reasonable voice. It isn't Ryan's fault that he's an idiot. "For the five-hundredth fucking time," he says, "we don't make touchdowns in rugby, we score _tries_. You think you want to try and remember that sometime?"

"Sure," Ryan says. "I'll put it on my to-do list."

Spencer rolls his eyes, and leans over the side of the bed to pick up his books. He has to fumble around under his bed to try and find his escaped homework, and while he's down there anyway, he straightens his shoes and shoves his not-that-well-thumbed skin magazine further under the bed and out of sight of prying eyes. None of the boys in it look anything like Brendon, which is kind of important when Spencer wants to get off.

When he sits up, he kicks Ryan again, and then leans over to poke him in the shoulder. "What are you even _doing_ here, anyway? You don't live here. This is my room. Did you get mixed up again?"

"I'm doing you a favor," Ryan says, virtuously. "I'm moving all your porn into a password protected folder."

"Oh my fucking _god_ ," Spencer manages, and pushes Ryan out of the way, elbowing him in the side. Ryan makes an _oomph_ noise, and elbows Spencer back. Ryan's elbows are pointy, and Spencer sometimes suspects Ryan of being a robot. "What the _fuck?_ "

" _Anyone_ using your computer could look at this stuff," Ryan points out, fruitlessly trying to kick Spencer in the shin. "I was doing you a favor."

"Oh my god, what is even _wrong with you?_ "

"You've got some totally weird shit," Ryan protests. "You want to keep that stuff locked up. Anyone could see. Your _mom_. _Me._ "

"My porn is _not weird_ ," Spencer hisses, trying to figure out which folders Ryan had had open. "Oh my _god_. And stop talking about my mom and porn, fuck."

Ryan raises his eyebrows. "Spencer," he says, gently, "your porn is totally weird."

Spencer blushes bright red. "It's completely natural to like that kind of thing," he says, quickly. "It's not weird. Just because not _everyone_ likes it -"

Ryan hums, and touches Spencer's arm with his hand. "You're my best friend," he says, in a kind voice, "so it's okay for me to tell you that you're a total fucking pervert."

"I can't believe you looked at my porn," Spencer manages. That stuff is _secret_ , even from Ryan. Especially from Ryan. Some things are sacred, even from best friends, and jerk off material is totally in that category. He sort of wants to die. For the sake of his sanity, Spencer is very glad that Ryan has chosen to drop the topic of his mom.

Ryan snorts, and pats Spencer on the head. "Dude, you are so fucking gullible. I was checking my emails, dumbass. You think I want to know what you jerk off to?"

Spencer flops back onto the bed and covers his eyes with his hands. "I'm going to kill you," he says. His breath comes out all in a rush. "I'm going to kill you so hard."

Ryan grins, and pokes Spencer in the side. Spencer groans, and moves over so that there's room for Ryan to clamber onto the bed next to him. "Still a fucking pervert," Ryan says, sounding far too cheerful about it for Spencer's liking.

Spencer kicks him. "What are you doing here, anyway?" he asks, after a moment where he mulls over the image of Ryan poking around in his porn folder. He resolves to password protect the whole lot as soon as Ryan leaves. And rename it. Ryan is far too nosy for his own good. Some things are _private_. That particular folder and the things inside of it are some of those things.

"Oh," Ryan says, softly, after a moment, and he rolls over, pressing his nose into Spencer's shoulder. "It's nothing."

"Ry -" Spencer says, because Ryan's gone quiet, and Ryan's never quiet. The only time Spencer is ever justified in worrying about Ryan is when he _goes quiet_. "Ryan."

"Jon's leaving," Ryan tells him, and he doesn't look up.

"Is that all," Spencer says, patiently, because Jon leaving is _not news_. Ryan has been melodramatic about this ever since he figured out that Jon was a senior, and that being a senior involved actually graduating from high school. Spencer pats Ryan on the shoulder sympathetically. "You've said. I made you a calendar." He points at the bulletin board above his computer, and the brightly colored, neatly ruled sheaf of papers attached with a bright red push-pin. Ryan has mentioned Jon going away to college maybe once or twice, possibly, and it's equally possible that Spencer has already planned out a route so that he can drive Ryan up there on the weekends when Spencer hasn't got a game. Ryan's calendar includes a schedule carefully noting Spencer's rugby games, and the weekends where Ryan can visit Jon because he's not going to be busy watching Spencer play. Spencer is the best kind of best friend. He's also pretty sure that the faculty appreciate having next year's sports schedule so far in advance. He's an _asset_ to that school, honestly.

"No," Ryan says, without moving. He doesn't make fun of Spencer's schedule either, and this must be the first time that Spencer's been able to mention it without either Ryan doubling over laughing or punching him in the side. Underneath the mockery, Spencer's sure that Ryan loves it. Everyone loves organization.

"Ryan," he says, because Ryan's not saying anything, and this is the kind of silence that makes Spencer _worry_. This is the kind of silence that makes Spencer call Ryan up fifteen times just to make sure that he's not writing emo poetry in black sharpie while listening to Tom Waits.

"He's leaving," Ryan says. "He told me today. He's going away as soon as graduation's over, to some stupid summer school for some stupid photography class, and then to college. He's leaving."

"Fuck," Spencer says, softly. Jon's graduation is like, six weeks away. Spencer can't imagine what it would feel like if it was Brendon who was leaving instead of Jon. His heart clenches. "Ryan -"

"I know," Ryan says, miserably. "I know."

Spencer wraps an arm around Ryan's shoulder, and tugs him closer. Ryan buries his face in Spencer's shirt, and doesn't say anything.

~*~

Even Spencer's parents notice that Ryan's being weird. Spencer's dad lets Ryan stay over later than their normal weekday curfew, which _never_ happens, and then he offers to put Ryan's bike in his station wagon and drive him home when it gets too dark for Ryan to make it home safe. Spencer offers to go to Ryan's place with them, but Spencer's mom just makes this noise that means she thinks Spencer should be in bed, and his dad just rolls his eyes at him, which means _no way, kid_.

Ryan accepts another slice of Spencer's dad banana and walnut cake from Spencer's mom on his way out of the door. He looks sad.

"Get some sleep, Ryan," Spencer's mom advises. "Everything will seem better in the morning, I'm sure."

Spencer makes a face. Parents say such stupid stuff. Like Ryan's going to wake up in the morning and miraculously discover that his boyfriend isn't leaving him. "Call me," he says, which is much better advice. He should be a psychologist. He could make money out of his awesome advising skills. Maybe he could do that after he's finished being a professional rugby player.

Still, he at least manages to wait until his dad's car has rounded the corner before checking his phone to see if Ryan's texted him. Spencer sprawls on the couch, ignoring his mom's requests that he turn the TV off and go to bed, when his phone beeps with another text message.

"Spencer," his mom says, from the doorway. "Will you _go to bed_. You have school in the morning."

"Busy, Mom," Spencer says, waving his phone in the air. "Ryan needs me."

" _Spencer_."

Spencer ignores her and clicks on the message envelope. Ryan's text says, _password is urpornistotallyfuckingweird DDDDD:_

Spencer's eyes widen and he's up and off the couch before his mom can even wish him _sweet dreams._ He darts upstairs and toward his computer, but his phone beeps again before he can even switch the power on to see if Ryan really has been through his _totally secret_ porn folders.

 _Just kidding 2cover up tragedy in my own life. Password is spencersafuckingpervert._

The third beep comes as Spencer face-plants into his pillow in humiliation. He doesn't even want to switch his computer on anymore.

 _No, really, its uraperv. Seriously weird shit, Spence. U eva think of therapy?_

Spencer groans into his pillow. _Hate u_ , he types, one-handed.

 _Hate u more_ , says Ryan's reply.

Spencer sighs, and types, _not switching my phone off_. He leaves his phone on his nightstand, and doesn't switch it to silent like he does when he doesn't want Ryan waking him up in the middle of the night to drag him out of bed.

Ryan doesn't reply, but Spencer knows he got the message. He resolutely does not think about Ryan going through his files, and instead, sends Brendon a goodnight text. He strips down to his boxers, and then he climbs into bed, pulling the blankets up and over his head. He doesn't think about Ryan rooting through his porn files. It's too embarrassing.

~*~

Brendon is waiting for him outside school in the morning, sitting on the wall by the edge of the bike racks, his backpack on his lap. He's reading a book, and doesn't even notice Spencer riding up. The brakes on Spencer's bike squeal in protest as Spencer perfects an awesome skid, right in front of Brendon. He is so totally cool. Best boyfriend ever.

"Hi," Brendon says, before Spencer's bike has even come to a complete halt.

Spencer dumps his bike on the ground and grins stupidly at Brendon. "Hi," he starts, ducking in to press an awkward kiss to Brendon's cheek. Brendon blushes pink and smiles wide.

Something somersaults in Spencer's chest.

"Spencer _Smith_ ," Mr. Vasquez yells, from the other end of the racks. "Pick that bike up _at once_."

Spencer spends a very quick moment reminding himself that next semester he will be a _senior_ , and that means he will be able to drive his car to school. Spencer can't wait. He doesn't understand why his parents sent him to a stupid progressive school where cars were banned until senior year. Instead of the parking lot they just have row after row of bicycle racks, and bays for the school buses to pull in to. It was supposed to promote healthy living and respect for the environment, or something, but mostly what it did was drive Spencer crazy, make him count down the days until senior year, and wish he was in public school.

"In a minute, Mr. Vasquez," Spencer tells him, because he has very important boyfriend duties to attend to before he wants to start fiddling with his bike lock and his backpack. Spencer takes his boyfriend duties very seriously, and saying a proper good morning is very high up on his list of how to keep a relationship alive. Spencer wonders how people managed to stay together when they didn't have the internet to consult for advice. Spencer's only glad that he remembered to Google for advice before his relationship with Brendon grew stale. Spencer has a whole collection of relationship websites that he's bookmarked under really secret names like 'Math Help' and 'Getting the most out of your school geography project', which he knows that Ryan will never be inspired to click on.

Mr. Vasquez is the bike rack supervisor this week, and he clearly hates rugby, which is totally stupid, and makes Mr. Vasquez the lamest teacher in the whole school. Every morning this week he's yelled at Spencer for something. Spencer wonders if Mr. Vasquez has a terrible home life. He must do, to be so angry all the time.

" _Now_ , Mr. Smith. Unless you want a detention this evening."

" _Fine_ ," Spencer complains, grabbing Brendon's hand and dragging him to his feet. It isn't the first time he's had to lock his bike up holding Brendon's hand, and he's pretty sure it won't be the last.

"This book is awesome," Brendon tells him, waving his book in Spencer's face. It's Harry Potter. Spencer makes a face. He doesn't really get why anyone needs to read the books now that they've made the movies. Spencer doesn't really read all that much. It makes Ryan really mad. Sometimes he goes red in the face and yells a lot. Sometimes Spencer lies and says he hasn't read a book since junior high, just because making Ryan crazy is one of Spencer's favorite things to do.

"I went to see the last movie, I think," Spencer says, fumbling with his bike lock. It's a lie. Ryan had bugged him until Spencer had capitulated and gone to the movie theater with him, and then Spencer had fallen asleep before the trailers were up, and Ryan had spent the rest of the movie elbowing him. Ryan has _really_ pointy elbows.

"The books are so much better," Brendon says, earnestly. He pushes his glasses back up his nose with one finger, and he looks so cute that Spencer has to leave off locking up his bike in favor of tugging Brendon closer so he can kiss him again. This time he kisses the corner of Brendon's mouth, which is almost but not quite where he was aiming for. Brendon beams, biting his lip.

"Hi," Spencer says, a little stupidly.

"Hi," Brendon says, because at least Spencer isn't alone in his total ridiculous lameness. "So, this book, right? It's totally awesome. You can read it after me and then we can talk about it."

Spencer blinks. "Talk about it?" He asks. He wants to make a face but he isn't sure exactly which face to make, so he doesn't make any, which is probably for the best since Brendon looks sort of earnest and enthusiastic, and not at all like this is the stupidest idea either of them have ever had.

"Yeah," Brendon says, without letting go of Spencer's hand. They've spent kind of a lot of time standing in the middle of the bike racks holding hands over the past few weeks. Sometimes they hold hands in the hallways, or by the coffee stand outside the library, or in the arts magazine office - until Ryan tells them to get out, that is. They like to change it up to promote balance and freshness in their relationship, not that Spencer lets on that that's what they're doing. Spontaneity is another item on his checklist of how to keep a relationship alive, and he's determined to do it right.

"We could have coffee, and uh, talk about it," Brendon goes on, sounding kind of hopeful.

"The book?" Spencer asks. "Like in class?" The idea of purposefully sitting down to an English class when they don't actually have to doesn't sound all that much like fun. Especially if it eats into their making out time, which has to be embedded into every day if a relationship is to go the distance. Not that the website calls it making out. It calls it 'regular physical intimacy with particular emphasis on affectionate touching'. Spencer makes sure that he holds hands with Brendon as often as he can so they can keep the magic alive.

Brendon makes a face. "We can sit down and uh, have coffee and discuss the book," he says. "It's good to build new hobbies into our lives."

Spencer feels really kind of doubtful about that, but he lets it slide. "Okay," he says, in his least sarcastic voice. "Awesome."

"Awesome," Brendon echoes. "I'll lend it to you when I'm done so you can read it, if you don't want to get your own one. Where's Ryan?"

"He's redesigning the arts magazine," Spencer says. He is pretty sure he has the stupidest smile on his face, but he doesn't care, because Brendon is kind of cute, and he's _his_. "He got here at like, six or something. Jon's leaving town after graduation, so Ryan is changing the whole magazine to black and white to, I don't know, show how heartbroken he is."

"Jon's what?" Brendon asks, startled.

"Leaving," Spencer says. "He's going to some photography summer school. Ryan texted me at five this morning to see if he'd left his black eyeliner at my place. I think he's probably dressed like he's at a funeral. He was playing Evanescence when he called me to wake me up. At full volume."

Brendon wrinkles his nose. "Poor Ryan," he says.

"Poor _me_ ," Spencer says, in distaste. "Have you ever been woken up by Evanescence? It was like a nightmare. I'm going to call Ryan up tomorrow and play him Britney Spears. See how he likes that."

"But _Ryan_ ," Brendon says. He looks down at his feet. "I'd hate it if you were leaving."

Spencer feels a pull of something tight and painful in his chest. "Me too," he says, fiercely. "You're not going anywhere, right?"

"Nope," Brendon says, shaking his head, and Spencer holds on to Brendon's hand extra tight.

"Are you two going to stand there all day?" Mr. Vasquez asks, looming over Spencer like the six-foot-something freak that he is. He reminds Spencer of Lurch from those Addams Family movies his mom likes. Sometimes she starts calling Spencer _Puggsly_ when they're done watching. Spencer's mom is such a weirdo. Spencer walked in on her and his dad calling each other Morticia and Gomez this one time, which was weird and kind of embarrassing. Luckily they were in the kitchen so they can't have been doing any stupid sex role play or anything, since Spencer knows it is impossible to feel sexy when you're making salsa and guacamole for a family barbecue. His parents are just _odd_.

"Haven't you got important bike supervising things to do?" Spencer asks, as patiently as he can manage, since Mr. Vasquez has such a crappy homelife and all.

Mr. Vasquez makes a face which is decidedly not patient in the slightest. "Get inside," he says, "before I put you both in detention."

Spencer smiles sympathetically. "Of course, Mr. Vasquez," he says, because you have to be nice to people with shitty lives.

Mr. Vasquez makes a weird noise in his throat and turns kind of red. Spencer beams at him, since it is important to smile at people to let them know that there is still good stuff in the world, even though their lives are totally crappy.

"I think there's someone over there who isn't wearing a helmet," Spencer points out helpfully, since it is Mr. Vasquez' job to police that kind of thing. When Mr. Vasquez' back is turned, Spencer ducks out of the bike rack and onto the path, tugging Brendon after him.

"Spencer," Brendon hisses, "that kid wasn't even on a _bike_."

"I know," Spencer says. "If I walk you to your locker, will you let me carry your books?"

~*~

There's only one spirit box in his locker this morning, so Spencer wraps the single, solitary cupcake in a napkin and stuffs it into the pocket of his hoodie for Ryan. Brendon has a drama club meeting before homeroom, so Spencer very politely waits at the back of the line for the coffee stand until the kids in front of him start clapping him on the back and let him push through to the front so he can get drinks for him and Ryan. Spencer secretly likes the perks of being the flyhalf far more than he lets on. The coffee stand had been an awesome gift from one of the parents who owned a chain of coffee shops across the city; subsidized drinks in return for the business. They were supposed to pick out the healthy juice drinks or the fruit snacks and only have coffee in case of emergency, but nobody ever picked the juice option. Instead the school was a caffeine-mad crazy-house of coffee drinkers, and Spencer was proud to be a part of it. The school counted it as a win that they were drinking organic, fairly-sourced coffee drinks instead of high-sugar, high-additive drinks like Coke. Spencer keeps his Coke habit firmly outside of school hours.

Mr. Uhuru collars Spencer at the end of the hallway. Spencer can hear the dulcet tones of Evanescence wafting down the stairs from the arts magazine office, and even though it's still early and homeroom doesn't even start for another twenty minutes, Mr. Uhuru still looks mad. His classroom is directly underneath the arts magazine office, though, and if Ryan's been playing the same song on repeat ever since he got to school, which Spencer thinks is more than likely since it's the same song that was on in the background when Ryan called to wake Spencer up, it's hardly surprising that Mr. Uhuru's head looks like it's about to explode.

"If he doesn't turn that terrible song off before I get upstairs," Mr Uhuru warns Spencer, "then he will be in detention until the end of the semester, do you understand me?"

Spencer nods. He can understand Mr. Uhuru not wanting to go upstairs and tell Ryan himself. The last time Ryan and Spencer had been stuck with a two week detention, after the two of them had accidentally set fire to the cooking room that Saturday morning they'd tried to bake muffins, the teachers had all fought over who had to go in and sit with them. Spencer had heard them arguing in the hallway, and they'd spent the second week sitting in the principal's office. He could understand, because Ryan's death glare was terrifying and when he had detention he insisted on writing poetry in his English notebook and coloring in the margins in thick black marker pen. In the end they'd sent him to the Guidance counselor instead, and Spencer had to sit by himself in the detention room and complain about how unfair it was that Ryan got let off to go and talk about his feelings instead of being stuck in here with him.

The teachers said that Ryan was a troubled young man, which was a lie. Ryan wasn't a troubled young man, he was just a big fat liar. He kept a special copy of his English notebook that he only used in detentions, with a thick black marker pen he only ever pulled out when he needed to write about the futility of life in order to get out of detention. Ryan told Spencer that the Guidance counselor just made him a cup of coffee and let him read his book, which to Spencer sounded worse than any detention he'd actually had to sit through.

"I'll tell him," Spencer says, not because he wants to save Ryan from detention, but because if Spencer has to hear more than one second of that stupid Evanescence song then he might actually have to crawl under the nearest table and die from the horror of it all.

"See that you do, Mr. Smith," Mr. Uhuru says. "I'm coming up there myself in one minute."

Spencer rolls his eyes and takes the stairs two at a time, barging into the magazine office. It _is_ that same Evanescence song from before. "Oh my _god_ ," he says, over the wail of the tinny speakers. "I hate this song. Why can't you have your total mental breakdown to something that's actually _good_?"

Ryan looks at him, miserably. He is, as Spencer predicted, wearing thick black eyeliner. "It speaks to me," he says.

"It does not," Spencer says, reaching over to unplug the speakers from the back of the computer. "It speaks to every single other person in the school, whether they like it or not. Haven't you ever heard of an iPod?"

"An iPod can't contain the broken shards of my heart," Ryan tells him.

"I think it can," Spencer says. "You should really try it. Here." He passes Ryan his coffee and the cupcake from his pocket. Even with the napkin it's a little fluffier than it was when Spencer first found it in the spirit box. Ryan never seems to mind that, though. "Don't say I never bring you anything."

Ryan takes a large but miserable bite of the cupcake. "It's red velvet," he complains.

"Sorry," Spencer says, even though he isn't. He likes red velvet cupcakes.

Ryan takes the lid off his coffee cup. "You didn't get cream," he says, sadly.

"I know, they were totally out," Spencer lies.

"Figures," Ryan says.

There's a pause. "You okay?" Spencer asks.

Ryan shakes his head. "No," he says, softly. "He's leaving, Spence."

"I know," Spencer says. He bumps his knee against Ryan's. "I know."

"I don't know what to do," Ryan says.

Spencer makes a face. "When does he leave?"

"After graduation," Ryan says. "My life is _over_."

"Yeah, but _when_?"

Ryan shrugs. "After graduation," he says.

Spencer blinks. "Did he tell you a date?"

"I don't know. He's leaving, it's not like I'm taking his calls. Which part of that did you miss?"

Spencer leans over and flicks Ryan in the forehead. "I missed the part where you were an idiot, dick-face." He rolls his eyes. "Call him."

"But he's _leaving_ ," Ryan says.

"I know," Spencer says, softly. "But he's your boyfriend, and he's not leaving yet. Call him."

"I don't want to hear him tell me again," Ryan says, staring down at his phone. "I think I could probably go my whole entire life without hearing again that my boyfriend's leaving me."

Spencer sighs. He doesn't know what he'd do if Brendon told him that he was leaving, but it wouldn't be pretty. "You want me to call him?" he asks, because a best friend's got to do what a best friend's got to do.

"I guess," Ryan says, shrugging. "Tell him he can't leave me, okay?"

"Hmmm," Spencer says, but he grabs Ryan's phone anyway. He hits speed dial 2 and waits for it to connect. Instead, his own phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and Spencer's eyes widen in horror. "You took me off speed dial 1?" he asks, injured. "When did that happen? What did I ever do to you?"

"My boyfriend is my number one," Ryan tells him, miserably.

"I am nobody's number two," Spencer says, mutinously, and it is a good thing that he knows Ryan's phone almost as well as his own, because he can swap it back without having to waste time scrolling through all the menus. He changes the language to Swedish, too, just because. Then he hits speed dial 2 again, waving the phone in front of Ryan's face, just to make sure he knows that Spencer is his number one again. Ryan makes a face, and Spencer makes one back, just as it connects.

"Ryan?" Jon says. "Thank fuck."

"It's Spencer," Spencer says quickly.

"Is Ryan, uh-"

"He's wearing eyeliner and having a total mental breakdown to an Evanescence soundtrack," Spencer says.

Ryan drops his head to the table with a thunk. Spencer pats him on the shoulder, kindly.

"Oh," Jon says. "I wondered who was playing that over and over. We had to quit band practice early because we couldn't hear over it."

"Yeah," Spencer says, unsympathetically. "Your boyfriend's a total loser."

"So, he's, uh. He's still my boyfriend?"

"Unless you've dumped him and not told him," Spencer says. Ryan sits up so fast that he knocks his backpack off the desk and onto the floor.

"No, _no_ ," Jon says. He sighs. "Is he there? Can I talk to him?"

"I think he's been writing lame emo poetry," Spencer confides. "Don't get him to read it to you. And another thing, do you think if you're going to break his heart you could tell me next time, so I can go find him and make sure he's okay? Then I can come and punch you in the face."

There's a long pause. "Spencer -"

Spencer waits. He has awesome patience.

Jon lets out a breath. "Just put him on the phone, okay?"

Spencer hands the phone to Ryan. "I threatened him with face punching," Spencer says, as Ryan takes it, reluctantly.

"I know," Ryan says. "I heard." He holds the phone for a moment, before putting it to his ear. "Hey," he says.

Spencer steals a bite of red velvet cupcake, and gets his phone out so he can text Brendon. He types out _just saved ryans relationship. ru done yet?_ and presses send.

Ryan kicks him in the ankle. "He says he wishes he wasn't going," Ryan tells him.

Spencer nods, and kicks Ryan back.

"He says he wasn't dating me when he found out about the photography summer school and applied."

"Well, duh," Spencer says. There's no way he'd ever leave Brendon like that.

"He says he wishes I wasn't -" Ryan makes a face. "Oh. He says can I tell you all about our conversation after we've finished having it."

Spencer rolls his eyes. His phone buzzes; it's a message from Brendon. _Just finished up. Come meet me at my locker?_ Spencer grins. "Got to go," he says, standing up. "I have to carry my boyfriend's books to class."

"You are so lame," Ryan mouths, but Spencer knows he's just jealous because Spencer's boyfriend isn't leaving after graduation. Spencer is going to have the best summer ever, hanging out with his boyfriend. He can't imagine what he'd be like if it were Brendon leaving instead of Jon, though, and he leans over and pokes Ryan in the side to show Ryan that he cares.

Ryan rolls his eyes and kicks him in the shin. Ryan is totally the worst best friend.

~*~

Brendon isn't at his locker, which is weird since his locker is closer to the drama classroom than it is to the arts magazine office. Spencer leans against Brendon's locker and gets out his phone to text Ryan, who must still be on the phone to Jon because he doesn't reply. In the end he texts Brendon, _miss uuuuuuu_. He's the best boyfriend.

It's still another couple of minutes before Brendon eventually shows up. His hair is all mussed.

"What did you do to your hair?" Spencer asks.

"Oh," Brendon says, coloring. He puts his hand to his head, almost as if he didn't know that his hair was all sticking up in different directions. He makes a half-hearted attempt to flatten it down, but that just makes it look weirder.

"Here, let me," Spencer says, and he leans over and runs his fingers through Brendon's hair, spiking it up.

Brendon lets out a breath and rocks a little on his feet, and Spencer finds himself suddenly short of breath, his hand still in Brendon's hair.

"There," he says, once he's done, trying not to let on how weird this moment actually is.

"Better?" Brendon asks, chewing on his lip.

"Yeah," Spencer says. He leans in and presses a kiss to Brendon's mouth, and he feels awkward and unsure and weird and kind of hot.

Brendon's cheeks are pink. "We're going to be late to homeroom," he says.

"Pfft," Spencer says. "You're dating the flyhalf."

"I'm not actually sure that works outside of your head," Brendon says.

"It should," Spencer says, grumpily. "Come on, give me your books."

"Only if you give me yours," Brendon says. He puts his hands on his hips. "Hand them over."

"This is ridiculous," Spencer says. "I can carry my own books."

"So can I," Brendon points out. He holds out his hand. "I want to, though. Give them to me."

Spencer rolls his eyes and bends down to pick up his folder from where he'd left it, leaning up against the locker by his foot. He notices that Brendon's jeans are ripped at the knee. "Did you have that hole there before?" Spencer asks.

Brendon colors, looking down at the rip in his jeans. "My mom is going to kill me," he says, miserably. "These are new."

Spencer shrugs. He's always coming home from rugby practice with ripped clothes. His dad always complains, but he still gets the sewing machine out and mends them all. His dad is awesome at fixing shit. "Come on," he says. "Homeroom."

Brendon tucks his hand into Spencer's, and bumps his shoulder against Spencer's. "Okay," he says.

Spencer grins, and bumps Brendon right back.

~*~

Spencer narrowly avoids having his phone confiscated in his third period world politics class. Ryan has human biology third period, and it's easy in the bio labs to hide a phone underneath the table, especially when Ms. Wu is the teacher, because she's ancient and always wears her glasses right on the end of her nose so she can't see to the back of the classroom. Spencer's world politics teacher is totally obsessed with Spencer, though, and Spencer can't even get away with writing notes in her class. Texting is usually completely out of the question, but Ryan is Spencer's best friend and Spencer always has a million things he wants to say to him which can't wait until lunch. He can only fake needing a hall pass so many times.

He only texts when the teacher is writing on the board, which is all well and good but it takes way too long and he's forgotten that Ms. Lucas has eyes in the back of her head.

"Do you want a detention, Spencer Smith?" she asks, without even turning around.

"I didn't even do anything," Spencer says immediately, dropping his phone back into his backpack before she can see it.

"Hmm," Ms. Lucas says. "What are we talking about in class today?"

Spencer blinks. _Shit_ , he thinks. "Communism?"

"I'm not convinced that isn't a lucky guess," Ms. Lucas says. Spencer makes his best _totally listening to whatever stupid thing you're talking about_ face. Ms. Lucas narrows her eyes. "If I see your phone out of your backpack again today, there will be trouble, understand?"

Spencer carefully doesn't answer, _aye-aye, sir_ , like he wants to. "Yes, Ms. Lucas," he says, gravely. "I take my education very seriously indeed."

Someone in the back of the class sniggers. Spencer gives them his best lofty glance. Soon they will be doing dull business degrees at college and working in stuffy offices for the rest of forever, and Spencer will be a famous rugby player, so he resolves to punch them in the face later on and leave it at that. Or maybe one of his withering glances will do instead. Spencer's been practicing his withering glances; Ryan says they're coming along nicely.

Spencer waits until Ms. Lucas is looking back at the board again before he checks his phone. Ryan's texted, _Jon is still leaving._ Spencer manages to type a sad face without Ms. Lucas noticing, and Ryan's reply comes straight back. _Don't want him to go_ , Ryan's written, and Spencer gets that. When he's not contemplating punching Jon in the face for making his best friend sad and quiet, he doesn't want Jon to go either, because Jon's kind of awesome, and Ryan's ridiculous over him, and Brendon thinks that Jon's some kind of great, too.

"Spencer Smith," Ms. Lucas says, sharply.

"Totally paying attention," Spencer lies, and kicks his backpack under the desk.

~*~

Ryan's always late to lunch because he has to come right over from the other side of campus after human biology, so Spencer puts on his best fierce face and corners Jon in the lunch line. "Don't make him sad, okay?" he says, because there are some things he just can't stand for.

Jon shrugs, and makes a face. "You think I want to go?" he says. "I didn't know I'd be dating him when I applied for summer school, Spence."

That does not count for anything, Spencer is sure. He frowns. "Can't you just, I don't know, not go?"

"Not really," Jon says. He sounds apologetic, and neither of them say anything as they file past the lunch lady and point dejectedly at the unidentifiable red stuff that is probably supposed to be pasta sauce. Much better that than the unidentifiable gray stuff they had on Monday, which could have been anything.

"Are you trying to poison me, Ms. Weaver?" Spencer asks, suspiciously, when she tries to spoon something gelatinous onto the plate next to his red stuff. "I'm the flyhalf, don't forget."

"I know," Ms. Weaver tells him. "You can have extra, if you want."

Spencer wrinkles his nose. "No, thanks," he says. He doesn't want to die. There isn't a substitute flyhalf he would trust to make a drop goal from the twenty yard line.

"I'll have extra," Jon says, because Jon will eat anything. Jon is brave and true, like Robin Hood.

"You're not the flyhalf, dear," Ms. Weaver says, but she looks like she gives him more than she should. Spencer resolves to brown bag it for the rest of the week because he's pretty sure that whatever Ms. Weaver's just spooned onto Jon's plate isn't actually _food_.

"Are you sure you can't just stay?" Spencer asks Jon again, once they've swiped their lunch cards at the register by the end of the lunch counter and Spencer's left staring at the green mush by the side of his plate that might once have been spinach. "Summer here is going to be much better than some stupid summer school."

Jon dumps his tray down on the table and pulls out his seat. "I'm going to come back some weekends," he says. "And I want Ryan to come up, too."

"Good," Spencer says, sitting down. He waves his fork at Jon. "Because you will have me to answer to if you treat him wrong, okay?"

Jon just laughs, which Spencer does not appreciate.

"I'm _serious_ ," he says. Ryan's welfare is very important to him.

"I know," Jon says, softly. His laughter trails off. "Trust me," he says, leaning over the table, "if I treat him badly you have my permission to punch me in the face."

Spencer nods, and then he spots Brendon over at the other side of the lunch room, and he holds his hand up and waves until Brendon notices and comes over.

"Hey," Brendon says, with a grin. He dumps his backpack on the floor and slides into the seat next to Spencer's. He ducks under Spencer's arm and leans up for a kiss. Spencer's mouth catches the corner of Brendon's. His aim is still not all that good. Over across the other side of the room, someone makes a loud comment, but Spencer ignores them. Jealousy is only to be expected.

"Hi," Spencer says. It's difficult trying to eat something you have to cut up when you have one arm around your boyfriend, but Spencer is willing to make concessions where he needs to. "Where's your lunch?"

Brendon ducks his head. "Forgot it," he says, which is weird because Brendon might be stupidly untidy at home, but he is also kind of organized about school stuff. He usually brings extra lunch because he tells Spencer that he's always hungry.

"Well," Spencer says, "get something from the lunch line."

Brendon picks a potato off Spencer's plate. He doesn't look up. "Lost my swipe card," he says.

Jon's smile flattens out into a frown. "Brendon," he says.

"Don't," Brendon says, quickly. He shoots a quick look at Spencer, and laughs, awkwardly. "I've got to start being more careful with my stuff."

"That's like, the third card you've lost," Spencer says. "Your mom's going to be pissed."

"Yeah," Brendon agrees. He draws out a pattern on the table top with his fingertip, and steals another tiny potato from Spencer's plate.

Jon pushes his chair back and stands up. "Do you want a sandwich?" he asks.

"Jon -" Brendon starts.

Jon doesn't sit down. "Grilled cheese?"

Brendon's shoulders slump. "You don't have to," he says.

"No," Spencer agrees. "I am Brendon's boyfriend, I'll buy him a sandwich."

Jon rolls his eyes. "I'll be right back," he says, and disappears across the lunch room to pick out a sandwich.

"I should be buying you lunch," Spencer complains. His arm is around Brendon's shoulders, and even though they've been dating a few weeks, the newness of this hasn't worn off yet. He's still hyper-aware that he gets to touch Brendon like this, and the way Brendon slides his chair even closer so that he can lean his head against Spencer's shoulder makes something leap in Spencer's chest.

"Nobody should be buying me lunch," Brendon says, after a moment. He doesn't look up. "I hate being such a loser."

"Don't say that," Spencer says. Brendon is dating _Spencer._ "You're not a loser."

Brendon doesn't say anything, and Spencer squeezes Brendon's shoulder a little. Brendon seems really down about losing his lunch card. Maybe Spencer should buy him a card wallet or something so he could keep track of his stuff more easily. Or maybe Spencer could send him a text message every morning to remind him to take his lunch! That would mean that Spencer could be the romantic, caring boyfriend that the websites kept telling him to be, _and_ Brendon would remember his lunch. It's totally a win-win solution. He remembers seeing those card wallet things in the bookstore in the mall; Ryan had spent an _hour_ picking out one that best summed up the way he felt about waiting in the lunch line. Spencer had been so bored he'd started reading one of the poetry books on the table next to the fancy card wallets. It had sucked. The guy spent all of his poems talking about himself, which was totally boring. Who even did that?

"You want to go to the bookstore after school?" Spencer asks, because if Jon can buy Brendon lunch then Spencer can take him to the mall and buy him a card wallet to keep his lunch card in.

Brendon sits up. "To buy the Harry Potter book?" he asks.

Spencer remembers Brendon's weird idea to read it together and discuss it. "I guess," he says, hesitantly. Brendon starts to beam, though, and that cements it for Spencer. Anything that makes him smile like that is fine by Spencer. "Yeah," he says, trying not to think about how much he hates reading.

"I've got rehearsal after school," Brendon tells him.

"I've got rugby practice, too," Spencer says. "After that?"

Brendon grins. "Yeah," he says, "And Mom says do you want to come over for dinner tonight? She's making ribs. You don't have to have the fake ones, she bought enough meat for you."

Spencer carefully does not make a face. Brendon's mom and dad do not talk about Brendon having a boyfriend. Spencer is always "Brendon's friend" or "Brendon's, uh," which is better than nothing, but Spencer wants to hold Brendon's hand and kiss his cheek and tell him how awesome he is. Brendon's parents are _weird_. It's not like they're not okay with Brendon dating Spencer, since Brendon has told them and they did not throw him out or tell him that he couldn't have Spencer over, but they are kind of weird about it. They keep inviting Spencer over for dinner though, and Brendon looks almost desperately hopeful about the whole thing, so Spencer keeps saying _yes_ , even though he would rather be at home texting Ryan and kissing Brendon. "Okay," he says, doubtfully. "I'll text Mom."

"Awesome," Brendon says, and he already looks happier than he did a minute ago, although his smile wavers when Jon comes back over and presents Brendon with a tray with a sandwich, an apple juice box and a raisin cookie on it. "You didn't have to," he says, quietly.

"I did," Jon says, and then Ryan comes over and drops onto the chair next to Jon with an _oof_.

"Bio sucks," he complains, miserably. "Hi."

"Hi," Jon says, and he pushes his illicit can of Coke towards Ryan so that Ryan can have some.

"Hi," Ryan says again, smiling tentatively and nudging the Coke back towards Jon, minus a large gulp.

"Hi," Jon says again, and he bites his lip. "Boyfriends?" he says.

"Boyfriends," Ryan says, decisively, and then lets Jon tangle his fingers with his. Ryan's thickly applied eyeliner and completely black outfit contrast with his wide, ridiculous smile.

"Where's your Evanescence soundtrack?" Spencer asks, kicking Ryan's ankle under the table.

"What Evanescence soundtrack?" Ryan asks, airily, leaning over and stealing a bite off Jon's fork. "I have no need of such a thing."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Mr. Uhuru will be pleased." He's still going to call Ryan up in the middle of the night and play him Britney at full volume. See how he likes _that_.

"What?" Ryan asks, distractedly.

"Spencer and me are going to the bookstore after school," Brendon says, around a mouthful of grilled cheese sandwich. He has crumbs on his cheek, and Spencer leans over and wipes them off with his finger. Brendon's skin pinks beneath his touch, and he stills a little, just enough for Spencer's heart to speed up and something to flip-flop in his stomach.

Ryan snorts, and kicks Spencer. "No way," he says.

"Way," Spencer says, making a face. It isn't like he hasn't ever been to a bookstore voluntarily before.

"We're going to read Harry Potter together and discuss it," Brendon says.

"You are _not_ ," Ryan says, in disbelief. "Oh my _god_." His eyes widen and he looks at Spencer with something bordering on shock. "Are you kidding me?"

"Nope," Spencer says, because he can spot an opportunity to fuck with Ryan a mile away. It's not that Spencer doesn't like to read, it's just that it's more fun making Ryan crazy by pretending that he thinks that books are just a waste of good trees. "Brendon and I are keeping the magic alive."

"Sure you are," Ryan says. "You're crazy."

Spencer beams. Fucking with Ryan is one of his favorite things to do.

"This is amazing," Ryan says. "I'm never going to stop teasing you about this."

Spencer's smile drops.

"You're just jealous," Brendon says, contentedly. "You and Jon don't have a special book club."

"We do," Ryan says, quickly, which is clearly news to Jon, judging by the look on his face.

"We do?" Jon asks.

"Yes," Ryan hisses. "We're reading Chuck Palahniuk. Aren't we?" He elbows Jon in the side.

"Uh," Jon says. "Yes?"

"Bet you're glad you're leaving now," Spencer says, to Jon.

Ryan kicks him hard. "Not funny," he hisses, and Jon makes a sad face.

"I'd pick you and a book club any day of the week," he says, squeezing Ryan's hand.

"I would too," Ryan says, and Spencer makes a puking noise, since Ryan and Jon are totally sick-making.

Brendon leans into Spencer's side. "I'd pick you over anything," he says in a whisper, and Spencer ducks his head and does _not_ blush, not even a little bit.

"Awesome," he mumbles, and breaks his chocolate chip cookie in half so that he can give half to Brendon. "Me too."

~*~

Rugby practice runs late, and when Spencer's finally finished up with his kicking practice and showering and stuff, he's almost fifteen minutes late to meet Brendon, which sucks. Spencer appreciates the value of good time-keeping, so he jogs through the hallways and out to the steps where Brendon's waiting, leaning against the wall by the door and checking his phone.

"I am the best flyhalf ever," he says, modestly, stopping just short of barreling into Brendon and pressing him back against the wall. In his head he imagines doing that, but he doesn't really know how to do that in real life, so he leans in and kisses the corner of Brendon's mouth instead. "I totally kicked an eighty-five-percent average today." It's nearing his personal best, but he doesn't tell Brendon that. Spencer's weird statistical obsession is something he mostly keeps to himself. He's the only person he knows that actually enjoys math homework.

"Awesome," Brendon says, and Spencer narrows his eyes because Brendon seems sort of pale and kind of quiet, and not like Brendon at all.

"You are being weird," Spencer says, suspiciously. "Did I forget to do something I was supposed to?" Sometimes that happens, even though Spencer's trying to do better now that he's dating Brendon.

"No, and I am not," Brendon says, and he tucks his hand into Spencer's, looking down at their entwined fingers. Spencer still feels hot inside at the way it feels to have Brendon touch him like this, the steady thump-thump of his crush beating loud inside his chest. When Brendon looks up again, he's smiling, which is good because Spencer doesn't know how to deal with Brendon when he's weird and quiet.

"Okay," Spencer says. "Bookstore?"

"Bookstore," Brendon agrees, and leans into Spencer's side.

~*~

Brendon's mom really is the most awesome cook. Dinner smells amazing, and Spencer's stomach rumbles the moment they file messily into the hallway of Brendon's house and toe off their shoes.

"Oh my god," Spencer says, dumping his backpack on the floor by his shoes and sniffing the air, "Can I marry your mom?"

Brendon makes a face. "No," he says. "And not just because you're supposed to be _my_ boyfriend, or because my dad would freak. Because you're weird."

"So not fair," Spencer complains. "I'd let you marry my mom."

Brendon wrinkles his nose. "You should stop talking now."

"I'm telling my mom you don't want to marry her," Spencer grumbles half-heartedly, following Brendon into the kitchen to say hi to Brendon's weird parents.

Brendon just rolls his eyes. "Hi, Mom," he says, leaning over the counter and reaching into the salad bowl for a slice of tomato and a handful of lettuce. Spencer doesn't really understand why anyone would go to the salad bowl for a snack, but Spencer knows that everyone is an individual and that if he and Brendon are going to last the distance and cement their relationship, he has to accept Brendon's odd habits. He is totally the best boyfriend ever.

"Hello, boys," Mrs. Urie says, turning around from the stove.

"Hi, Mrs. Urie," Spencer says, because he's totally polite, even when his boyfriend's mom is kind of weird and is wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat to cook dinner in. "Nice hat."

"Thank you," Brendon's mom says, a little suspiciously. Spencer is totally sincere, whatever. "Brendon, take your hand out of that salad bowl right now. Dinner will be twenty minutes."

"Mom," Brendon complains. "That's forever."

"Hmm," she says, and looks Brendon up and down. "Did you have lunch?"

"Yes," Brendon says, quickly.

"Okay," she says. "Go get your lunch box then, you can put it in the dishwasher."

"About that," Brendon says. "I left it at school."

Spencer blinks. That is not what Brendon said at lunch time. Brendon said he forgot it. He narrows his eyes.

"Brendon," Mrs. Urie says, quietly.

"It's okay, Mom," Brendon says, his gaze darting quickly from Spencer to his mom. "Don't worry. Everything's fine."

Which is weird, okay, because Brendon's mom looks really _sad_ , and Spencer knows that Brendon's family are weird, but getting upset about forgetting a lunchbox is really odd.

"You had spare money on your card, though, right?" Mrs. Urie says. She looks upset. "You could go get yourself something from the lunch room."

Brendon swallows, and ducks his head. "No," he says, softly. "I lost it."

"Oh, _Brendon_ ," Mrs. Urie says. "That school."

Spencer is pretty sure it isn't the school's fault that Brendon doesn't take good care of his lunch or his lunch money, but he doesn't say anything. He's watching Brendon, because Brendon looks sort of sad, and a little desperate, and he's not looking at Spencer. Brendon always looks at Spencer. Spencer _likes_ it when that happens. He's kind of gotten used to it. His brow furrows.

"It's nothing, Mom," Brendon insists. "It was my fault."

"Don't say that," Mrs. Urie admonishes. "It is never your fault."

It kind of is, Spencer thinks, in confusion. No wonder Brendon's always losing his stuff if his mom tells him it's okay to not take care of it.

" _Mom_ ," Brendon says. "Please. Can we not talk about this right now?"

Mrs. Urie shoots a tired, sad look at Spencer. Spencer smiles back at her, because maintaining a good relationship with your boyfriend's parents is the key to a successful partnership. She pushes the brim of her hat up and rubs her forehead with the back of her hand before turning her attention back to Brendon. "Let me take a look at you," she says. "Did they -"

"Mom," Brendon hisses, his gaze darting back and forth between Spencer and his mom. "It's nothing, will you _leave it_ , please."

Spencer does not understand this in the slightest. Brendon's family are confusing at the best of times, and Brendon says it gets worse when his brothers and his sisters are at home and taking over the house, but this is just plain weird. Spencer is secretly a little scared of meeting Brendon's brothers and sisters, since they are all older than Brendon and Spencer doesn't exactly know how to deal with being a younger sibling. He has even less idea how to deal with Brendon and his mom staring at each other and not saying anything.

"We're going upstairs," Brendon says, after a moment. He hooks his hand into the curve of Spencer's elbow, and tugs him toward the kitchen door. He's pink-cheeked.

Brendon's mom swallows, and turns back to the stove. "All right," she says. "Twenty minutes until dinner."

"Your family is really weird," Spencer confides, following Brendon down the hallway to the stairs.

"It's part of our charm," Brendon says. His voice wobbles, just slightly, and Spencer narrows his eyes. Brendon should never, ever be upset. It should be a rule. Spencer wants to fix whatever is making Brendon sad, except he doesn't actually know how to do that because he doesn't know what's wrong.

"We could read our books," Spencer says, because Brendon is clearly really into the idea of their stupid, private book club, and when they'd been in the bookstore Brendon had been smiling like a crazy thing. They'd held hands in the line and Spencer had very proudly told the girl with the dreadlocks behind the register that he was buying a present for his boyfriend when he'd handed over his Harry Potter book and the card wallet. She had smiled, and waved her rainbow tattoo at them. Spencer appreciated the gesture, even though the tattoo was kind of ugly. Spencer very kindly didn't tell her that part.

They hadn't spent as long as Ryan had, picking out his card wallet from the range over by the door, but Spencer had wanted to make sure that Brendon picked out the one he really wanted, so it had taken about twenty minutes. In the end they'd picked out a tiny wallet that had two pockets inside, one with a clear front so that Brendon could put a picture of him and Spencer inside and look at it whenever he wanted. Spencer was proud of that idea, especially when he spotted a photo booth over in the corner and decided that that was what they were going to do after they'd paid. The wallet wasn't decorated in pictures of rugby players, which is secretly what Spencer would have liked, but they did find one with four cowboys on the front, doing the time warp, complete with instructions. Spencer hadn't ever actually seen The Rocky Horror Show, and he wasn't sure that Brendon had either, but they both pretended they knew more than that one song and had taken it straight over to the register with their books.

"We could read a chapter before dinner," Brendon says, with the beginnings of a smile on his face. "Then afterwards we can talk about it, and stuff."

"Awesome," Spencer lies. Seriously, he is making himself a best boyfriend ever button when he gets home, and he's going to wear it for the whole _week_. Ryan will never, ever shut up about how funny this whole thing is.

"Awesome," Brendon echoes, and when they get upstairs, Brendon sweeps all of the assorted crap off his bed and onto the floor, and clambers into Spencer's lap when Spencer gingerly sits down. He leans in for a kiss, and Spencer slides his hands into Brendon's hair with a happy sigh as he covers Brendon's mouth with his own.

Making out with Brendon is just about the very best thing that has ever happened to Spencer, without a doubt. It is his favorite thing on the _planet_ , because Brendon tastes sweet and hot and kind of just like Brendon, and kissing is incredible, and having a lap full of Brendon that he is actually allowed to touch is the best thing he can imagine. Just kissing him makes Spencer's heart beat faster and his skin feel hot and he just wants to touch Brendon everywhere. He concentrates on tangling his fingers in Brendon's short hair, though, and he pulls, just a tiny bit, just enough that he can tip Brendon's head back a little and touch at the underside of his jaw with his other hand. Brendon gasps, breathless, and kisses him back, enthusiastic and happy. Spencer _loves_ this.

Brendon cups Spencer's face in his hands and kisses him again and again, and Spencer has to chase his mouth, arching up against him so that Brendon has to shift in his lap, and Spencer takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around Brendon's back and hold him close, just for a moment. When they break away, Spencer's breathless and his skin burns with a feeling he can't really put a name to, but it's something like the tight desperation he feels when he's trying to find something to jerk off to and he finds something that really turns him on. Brendon is pink-cheeked and he's breathing hard; Spencer just wants to keep on kissing him forever.

"You're not allowed to ever break up with me," Spencer says, seriously. "Like, ever."

Brendon buries his face in Spencer's neck, and laughs. "You are such an idiot," he says. His breath is warm against Spencer's throat, and Spencer shivers, unable to help himself.

"I am not," he complains, because he has to say something, and sometimes when he is with Brendon he finds it really difficult to concentrate on anything other than his boyfriend. "You're the idiot."

Brendon presses a kiss to Spencer's neck, and Spencer tries not to blush at the sensation of Brendon's mouth against his skin. He fails, and to be honest, he doesn't care all that much. He leans back against Brendon's pillows, and wraps his arms around Brendon when Brendon snuggles up against his side. He doesn't know how to ask Brendon what's going on with him, so he doesn't. He just holds on tighter for a moment, and kisses Brendon's forehead. Making out with Brendon is incredible, but Spencer thinks that he remembers the little touches and the forehead kisses in more detail, because he's so aware of what it means that he can actually touch Brendon like this, and kiss him whenever he wants.

"We should read our books," Brendon says.

Spencer is aware that Brendon sometimes has very wrong ideas, but he decides to keep quiet. "Sure," he says, brightly, and tries to compose a text message to Ryan in his head. _Snd hlp. Bden gone crazy_. Ryan doesn't send one back, and Spencer blames Ryan for not trying hard enough.

"This is so cool," Brendon tells him, reaching for his copy and Spencer's bag from the bookstore, which Brendon had brought upstairs with him.

"Yeah," Spencer agrees, which is another lie. This is so totally lame Spencer can't even make words.

"We could read some of it out loud," Brendon suggests. "Do you want to start?"

Spencer resolutely does not say _this is the worst idea anyone has ever had_. "Definitely," he says, because Brendon is hooking his chin over Spencer's shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist, which is incentive enough for Spencer to do _anything_.

"Okay," Spencer says, awkwardly. He flips the page. "Chapter one -"

~*~

Brendon's mom is trying very hard not to smile, Spencer can tell. "That's very enterprising, boys," she says, after Brendon's told her all about their Harry Potter plans.

Brendon beams. "Sharing new interests is a way of keeping a relationship alive," he says, and Spencer thinks very carefully about sinking through the floor. Apparently, so does Brendon's mom, because her cheeks go pink and she hands Brendon the plate of fake meat ribs.

"That's great, Brendon," she says, urging him to take more than the couple he's dumping on his plate. "How are you liking Harry Potter so far, Spencer?"

"Oh," Spencer says, because he can barely remember anything about the last twenty minutes that isn't Brendon pressed up against him and sharing kisses. "Yeah, it's awesome."

"I'm glad," she says. "Brendon, I've called the school and left a message. Your dad and I are going to go speak to the principal again."

Brendon's face falls. "Mom," he says. "Please, can we not talk about this now?"

"No," Brendon's mom says, shooting a look at Spencer that Spencer doesn't understand. "This is a great time to talk about it."

" _Please_ ," Brendon begs. He drops his rib back down on to his plate.

"You shouldn't keep this kind of thing secret," Brendon's mom says, quietly. She reaches over and covers Brendon's hand with hers, but Brendon pulls away and hides his hands in his lap. He won't look up. "It's nothing to be ashamed of -"

"Shut up," Brendon says, tightly. Spencer's never heard Brendon sound like this before. His chest feels weird.

"Brendon," Spencer says. He doesn't actually understand what's going on.

"It's nothing," Brendon says, quickly. "I'm just failing a class, that's all. Nobody needs to go and see the principal."

"Mom says if she has to go see the Guidance counselor one more time this year then she will make me sleep in the shed," Spencer says, to fill the strained, awkward gap in the conversation. Brendon's mom looks like she's about to cry.

Brendon doesn't look up. "Nobody likes a failing grade," he says, dully.

Spencer glances between Brendon and his mom. He leans over and slides his hand into Brendon's. Brendon looks up in surprise, and Spencer offers him his best, _I don't care that you're flunking_ smile. Brendon squeezes his hand and offers Spencer a hesitant smile in return.

"This isn't anything you should be ashamed of," Brendon's mom repeats, sadly. "Being -"

" _Mom_ ," Brendon says, and there's a hitch to his breath that suggests that Brendon's actually closer to crying than Spencer's ever heard him be before. "Me and Spencer are going to go eat in the living room."

Brendon's mom stands up and goes over to the sink. She turns the faucet on and runs the water, but doesn't actually get herself a drink or start washing up. She just stares out of the window into the yard. "Okay," she says, finally. "Go and put something funny on the TV."

There is so much weird in this conversation that Spencer doesn't even know where to start. He picks up his plate when Brendon does, though, and follows Brendon into the living room. Brendon curls up at one end of the couch with his plate, but Spencer isn't having any of that. He sits as close to Brendon as he can manage, and hesitantly rests his hand on Brendon's leg. "I don't care that you're flunking," he says, awkwardly. Sometimes he misses Ryan, because he always, always understands what Ryan's thinking.

"That's good," Brendon says, with that weird hitch to his voice again. "You want to pick something to watch?"

Spencer flicks through the channels until he finds an episode of South Park he hasn't seen in ages. He laughs when Kenny dies horribly, but at his side he can feel Brendon, rigid and upset. He puts his plate down onto the floor and nudges Brendon with his elbow.

Brendon makes a soft sound in his throat and leans into Spencer's side. "I'm such a fucking loser," he says, so quietly Spencer can barely hear him.

"Don't say that," Spencer says, fiercely. He believes more than anything that that isn't true.

Brendon wraps his arms around Spencer's waist and doesn't let go.

~*~

"So, that was totally weird," Spencer says, coming into his living room after getting back from Brendon's place and sinking down onto the couch next to his mom. His sisters are taking up the whole of the other couch, fighting over the remote and ignoring Spencer.

"What's that, honey?" his mom asks. She's doing the crossword and she has to push her reading glasses down her nose so she can see him properly. Spencer doesn't even make fun of her for her being too old to see properly any more. It's too easy.

"Brendon and his mom," Spencer says. "His mom and dad are going in to see the principal and Brendon's really upset about it."

"Hmmm," Spencer's mom says, putting her pen down. "What about?"

Spencer shrugs. "Failing some class, Brendon says."

"I didn't know he was failing," she says. "Girls, stop fighting over that remote right now. Neither of you are going to watch _Sixteen and Pregnant_ , no matter how many times you try and put it on the DVR."

"Neither did I," Spencer admits. His sisters are complaining loudly about everybody else at school being able to watch it. His sisters are so _young._ "Hey, Dad?"

His dad looks up from the computer. "Uh-huh?" he says, taking off his headphones. Spencer's dad is addicted to podcasts and listens to all these stupid radio shows every night rather than watching the TV. It's totally weird.

"Brendon's ripped his jeans," Spencer says. "He says they were new, or something, and things are really weird with his mom right now, so I figured you might be able to mend them for him so his mom doesn't get mad." Spencer's dad is really awesome with a sewing machine.

Spencer's dad exchanges a look with his mom. "How'd he rip them, Spence?" he asks.

Spencer shrugs. "Don't know," he says. Everyone is being weird tonight. "He fell over, probably. He's really clumsy sometimes. I didn't ask. Can you mend them, or not?"

"Probably," his dad says. "But I think you might need to talk to Brendon about how he ripped them. Does this happen a lot?"

"The jeans are new, Dad," Spencer says. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and when he pulls it out, it's Ryan replying to his text. He thumbs open the keyboard, hovering over the reply button. _Every1 totally weird 2nite_ , he types.

"Tell him to bring them with him next time he comes over," his dad says. "I'll see what I can do."

"Awesome," Spencer says. He stands up, because he needs to call Ryan. He's texting Brendon already, saying, _bring ur jeans over here nxt time, dad will fix them 4u._

"Spence," his dad says.

"What," Spencer says, exasperatedly. His parents are so annoying. "I've got to call Ryan."

His dad sighs. "I think, maybe, you should look out for Brendon for a while. I don't think he has it easy at school."

Spencer rolls his eyes. He is Brendon's _boyfriend_ , of course he is going to look out for him. Now that he knows Brendon is failing a class maybe he can even help him catch up. They could _study_ together. His phone starts to buzz, over and over, and Spencer picks it up without answering his parents. Ryan's already talking by the time Spencer gets the phone to his ear, which is nothing out of the ordinary. Spencer's learnt to pick out what Ryan's talking about from context clues.

"Hi," Spencer says pointedly, stomping up the stairs. "Ryan, shut up and say hi to me."

"I am telling you about Jon's cats," Ryan says. "Shut up and listen."

Spencer rolls his eyes, and kicks the door to his bedroom shut behind him.

~*~

"I have extra rugby practice at lunch," Spencer says, curling his hand around Brendon's waist and pressing a kiss to Brendon's cheek.

Brendon rests his head on Spencer's shoulder for a moment, fumbling with his locker combination. "Awesome," he says, but he doesn't sound all that happy about it. "You are going to have time to eat lunch though, right? They can't starve you just because you're the flyhalf."

Spencer wrinkles his nose. "It's just a meeting with Coach O'Brian," he says. "Strategy and stuff. I'm going to eat my sandwich there."

"Fine," Brendon says, with a sigh. He dumps his books into his locker, and pulls out a notebook and a chewed ball-point pen. "I'll eat lunch with Ryan and Jon."

"Ryan's got an arts magazine meeting," Spencer says. "And I think Jon has a band rehearsal."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Fine," he says, again. "I'll find someone else to have lunch with."

"It's just this once," Spencer explains, since Brendon seems to be in a bad mood today. "We could go get ice cream after school."

"Sure," Brendon says. He shuts his locker door, and hugs his books to his chest. "If you can find the time."

"Brendon," Spencer says, in surprise.

Brendon shakes his head. He looks down for a moment, and then takes a deep breath. "Don't pay any attention to me," he says. "I'm just in a bad mood. Mom and Dad are coming in later. Ignore me." He leans up on his tip-toes and presses a kiss to Spencer's cheek. "I've got to go."

Spencer sighs, and watches helplessly as Brendon heads off down the hallway, in completely the opposite direction from Spencer's next class. He's worried about Brendon, but he doesn't know what's wrong. He wishes Brendon would just _tell him_.

~*~

His rugby meeting turns out to be about a change in strategy for Friday's game, and actually doesn't last all that long. Spencer is pretty grateful about that, because there is something up with his boyfriend and Spencer intends to make it better. He dumps the rest of his sandwich back into his brown bag, and fishes his cellphone out of his pocket so he can text Brendon. _Hows ur lunch_? he asks, and presses send before he means to. He'd meant to ask where Brendon was, so that Spencer could come and join him. Coach O'Brian asks him something about attending extra backs practice later in the week, though, so that's another couple of minutes wasted, and by the time Spencer checks his phone again, Brendon's replied.

 _Good,_ he's texted. _Catching up with the drama guys for lunch._

 _Cool_ , Spencer texts back, and sets off towards the cafeteria to surprise Brendon.

Except, Brendon isn't in the cafeteria. Or at least he's not sitting with the drama kids, who have spread over the two tables in the corner of the room, like usual.

Spencer spots Jon sitting over in the opposite corner, with Tom Conrad and some other seniors. Spencer has at least spoken to them more now, since Jon and Ryan have started dating. He catches Jon's attention and heads on over.

"Where did Brendon go?" he asks, leaning over and stealing a fry from Jon's plate.

Jon shrugs. "Haven't seen him," he says. "Hey, the guys are playing a party on Friday night, you should both come along. It'll be cool. Ryan's going to come and review them for the magazine."

"Awesome," one of the other guys sitting at the table says, rolling his eyes. Spencer resolves to come back and punch him in the face, as soon as he finds Brendon. The only person allowed to make fun of the arts magazine is Spencer.

"Sure," Spencer agrees, easily, ignoring the arts magazine jibe. He's totally the better person.  
"If there isn't a rugby party or whatever. Are you sure you haven't seen him? I thought he was eating his lunch in here."

"Nope," Jon says. He offers Spencer more of his fries. "You want to sit down?"

"Nah," Spencer says. He looks around the room, just in case he's missed him. He's got a pretty spot-on Brendon radar though, and he can usually pick him out of a crowd without even looking too hard. He checks his phone. There's a new text from Brendon that says, _miss you xoxo_.

Spencer echoes the sentiment, but this is just weird. "I'll see you," he says to Jon, already texting Ryan. _Everything is still totally fucking weird_ , he types, and presses send.

He remembers that time he came across Brendon eating his lunch by himself in the drama classroom, and figures he might as well try there before he tries anywhere else. He eats the rest of his sandwich walking down the hallway, because he's hungry and this is getting ridiculous. He has no idea what is going on with Brendon right now, but something is, and Spencer isn't happy about it.

When he gets to the drama classroom, he peers through the glass panel in the door rather than walking on in, like he usually would. He doesn't know why he does it, but it's when he sees Brendon sitting on the windowsill over the other side of the room, eating his lunch by himself and reading a book that Spencer starts to feel really fucking weird, and sort of sick.

  
artwork by aredblush 

.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends Brendon a text. _Miss u 2. Who ru eating with? They'd better not be more awesome than me_.

He watches as Brendon's phone goes off, and Brendon picks it up and types out a reply. When he's done, he drops his phone back into his lap and picks up his book again.

Spencer's phone buzzes. _Just some friends,_ Brendon's typed. _They're pretty cool but not as awesome as you xoxo_.

Spencer's hands start to shake, and he stuffs his phone back into his pocket and hurries back down the hallway to the lunch room. He doesn't even bother waiting until Jon's finished talking to his friends, just catches him by the elbow and urges him up and out into the hallway. This seems like something Jon is going to know the answer to. Jon knew to buy Brendon a sandwich, after all, which Spencer didn't.

"Spence?" Jon asks, puzzled.

"Brendon," Spencer says, swallowing. "Does, uh, does he have any friends?"

Jon blinks. "Yes," he says, carefully, as if Spencer was stupid.

Spencer lets out a long, desperate breath.

"He has you, and now he has me, and Ryan," Jon goes on. "What's going on?"

"Other than us," Spencer says, something twisting inside of his chest. "Does he have any friends other than us?" He wants Jon to say _yes_ more than anything else in the world, because that way he won't have been the boyfriend who hadn't noticed that Brendon didn't have anyone other than them. He remembers the girls that were talking to Brendon the night they had gotten together, at the _Hairspray_ after show party. Surely _they_ were Brendon's friends? He'd never seen Brendon hang out with them, though, and now he came to think about it, Brendon had spent most of their shared drama classes by himself. He talked to the other kids, but they didn't exactly come over and start conversations with him. Why hadn't he figured it out?

"Spence," Jon says, a little helplessly. "He has you."

"Oh god," Spencer says, his stomach dropping. "I am the worst boyfriend in the world." He genuinely cannot imagine not having Ryan in his life, and any time he does try and think about what it would be like without him, his chest gets kind of tight and he has to go and text Ryan repeatedly just to make sure Ryan knows Spencer is still here. "I didn't even notice."

Jon makes a face. "He—he kind of pretends a lot," he says, awkwardly. "I don't think he wants us to know."

"But you knew," Spencer says, belligerently. He feels terrible. Like, actually terrible. He wonders what else he's missed.

Jon offers him a half-smile. "He works pretty hard at making sure you don't figure out how lonely he is, Spence."

"He's not lonely, he has me," Spencer says, quickly. Brendon can't be lonely, he just _can't_. How long has this even been going on? "I would have _known_ ," he says. Except that he wouldn't, because Spencer never notices _anything_ , and Spencer is an idiot, and he's so totally fucking pissed at himself that he can't even speak. He walks off without saying anything else, and he leaves Jon calling after him, asking him if he's okay.

He's not okay. He ducks into the bathroom to text Brendon, because there's a group of cheerleaders wanting to high-five him at the end of the hallway, and Spencer doesn't deserve high-fives. He barely deserves a boyfriend. He's going to have to work so hard to make this up to Brendon. He gets his phone out of his pocket.

 _Got out of meeting early,_ he texts. _Want 2 meet me somewhere?_

He waits until Brendon texts back before leaving the bathroom. _Sure! Just picking my schedule up from the drama classroom, meet me there?_

Spencer actually wants to cry.

~*~

Brendon's waiting for him outside the drama classroom, leaning up against the wall. He grins as Spencer arrives, standing up and bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Hi," he says.

"Hi," Spencer says, and he's sure his voice sounds funny, because it _feels_ funny. He wraps his arms around Brendon's waist and tugs him closer, into a tight hug.

"You are so weird," Brendon says, with a grin, but he hugs Spencer back. "Do rugby meetings make you want to hug, now?"

"You make me want to hug," Spencer says, burying his face in Brendon's neck.

Some dickface with no soul yells, _get a room_. Spencer counts backwards from five and doesn't rugby tackle the offender to the ground, which is what he wants to do. Brendon tries to pull away, but Spencer keeps on holding on, and doesn't give an inch. He is a rugby player, and although it isn't exactly something they advertise, he is essentially a trained hugger.

"I am a trained hugger," Spencer says, after a minute, when he's composed himself and stopped wanting to cry because there isn't anybody apart from them in the whole school who realizes that Brendon's incredible.

"You are a very good hugger," Brendon agrees, into Spencer's hair.

"Do you have drama club after school?" Spencer asks, reluctantly pulling away. He smoothes Brendon's hair behind his ear. He is going to be an awesome friend to Brendon, to make up for all those idiots who don't want to know. And then he is going to hunt down every single kid in the school who chooses not to be Brendon's friend, and then he is going to hurt them.

Brendon bites his lip. "Audition," he says, "for the end-of-year show."

"You didn't tell me you were auditioning," Spencer says, because lesson one in this whole mess is paying attention to what Brendon says. Spencer is going to be an excellent listener.

Brendon shrugs. "It's just Scenes From The Musicals, Take Two," he says. "Except this time they're making us audition."

Spencer shudders, remembering the last Scenes From The Musicals. "You were the best thing about that show," he says, because Brendon was.

"You saw that?" Brendon asks.

Spencer loosens his grip on Brendon, but he slides his arm around Brendon's shoulder to keep him close. Brendon is never going to be lonely again, Spencer has decided.

"Maybe," Spencer says. He doesn't say, _I've seen every show you've been in since freshman year._ "Possibly. Yes. Yeah, I saw it."

Brendon makes a face. "Really? That show was terrible."

Spencer agrees. "It was," he says, thinking about Brendon singing _Luck Be A Lady_. "Apart from you. I liked that song you sang. Anyway, it was better than that terrible Brecht shit I had to sit through last year." Spencer is never, ever going to forget The Caucasian Chalk Circle. Set to music.

Brendon blinks. "You, uh, you saw that, too?"

Spencer blushes, just a little bit. "Maybe," he says. "Uh, yes."

"I thought you hated drama," Brendon says. "You never want to pretend to be a cloud."

"Being a cloud is stupid," Spencer says. "You are not stupid. I like you."

"Hmmm," Brendon says, poking Spencer in the side until Spencer goes pink. "I like you too. I should see more rugby games. I think you're showing me up."

"Game day this Friday," Spencer says, hopefully. He catches Brendon's hand in his own, and tangles their fingers together. Sometimes when they do this Spencer can't stop staring at their entwined hands, because if he stares long enough it gets a little blurry and Spencer stops being able to figure out whose fingers are whose. "You could come to the game, if you wanted."

"Pfft," Brendon says, and Spencer almost forgets that Brendon's been hiding the fact he hasn't got any friends from him. "You think I'd miss it for the world. I'm making you a sign."

Spencer blushes bright pink. Brendon's _you will win for sure_ sign is one of his favorite things ever. He has it pinned up on the inside of his closet door. Sometimes Ryan tries to stick rude notes on it, but Spencer threatened to beat Ryan up last time that happened, so Ryan mostly sticks to looking at it and sniggering. Sometimes Spencer looks at it and remembers Brendon's hesitant smile, and that weird, fluttery feeling in his stomach he got when he saw Brendon holding it. He likes that feeling. "What's it say?" he asks.

"Not telling," Brendon says, with a secret smile. "You'll have to wait and see."

"No fair," Spencer says. "I'm going to be so busy trying to figure out what your sign says that I won't be able to concentrate on the game, and then I will drop the ball and everyone will hate me, and nobody will call me their king anymore." He frowns. "You don't want that to happen, right?"

"You will always be my king," Brendon says, patting his arm sympathetically.

Spencer makes a face. "You should tell me what your sign says," he says, and very carefully does not think about how he likes Brendon more than anyone else in the world.

"Or," Brendon says, "I shouldn't. It's a surprise, shut up."

"You are the worst boyfriend in the world," Spencer grumbles, and he bites his lip and stares at Brendon's mouth, which is one of Spencer's favorite things to look at.

Brendon rolls his eyes. "You can totally kiss me if you want to," he says.

"I wasn't -" Spencer says, which is a lie. He was.

"Shut up," Brendon says, tucking his hands into Spencer's shirt, "and kiss me."

"If you insist," Spencer says, even though he's blushing pink and his skin feels hot. He touches Brendon's cheek with the crook of his finger, and Brendon stills, biting his lip. He looks at Spencer from under dark lashes, and Spencer genuinely cannot figure out why there isn't a _line_ of people waiting to be friends with Brendon. It makes his stomach hurt just thinking about it, and he doesn't like how that feels, so he ducks in and touches his mouth to Brendon's.

"So not a real kiss," Brendon says, softly, which is an invitation if Spencer's ever heard one, so Spencer wraps his arms around Brendon's back and leans in again.

Spencer tries to pour everything he's feeling into the kiss, so he can tell Brendon that he thinks he's incredible, that he deserves all the friends in the world and that he's sorry he didn't notice and how Spencer's going to be _better_ from here on in. He doesn't care that they're in the hallway and that this might be a conversation they should have somewhere that isn't up against the drama classroom door. He just wants Brendon to know how much he cares. He cups Brendon's face in his hand and kisses him over and over, just to make sure Brendon gets it.

"Wow," Brendon says, in a glazed voice, when they finally pull away for breath.

"Right?" Spencer says. He wants Brendon to get it so badly, because he doesn't exactly know how to say it in words. _I'm sorry you don't have any friends_ doesn't sound all that awesome when you say it out loud, anyway.

"Uh," Brendon says. "So that was pretty great."

"Right," Spencer agrees. _I like you best_ , he thinks.

"So," Brendon says, in an undertone, a moment later. "We have an audience."

When Spencer turns around, it's to find a hallway half-full of cheerleaders, all staring at them. Spencer had forgotten they had an extra lunchtime practice, too. Brendon hides his face in Spencer's neck and starts to laugh, which makes Spencer feel kind of shivery, because Brendon's breath against his skin is hot and sort of tickles. He slides his arm around Brendon's shoulders.

"Yes, yes," he says, puffing his chest out. "You wish you could all have a boyfriend as awesome as me, whatever."

Some of the cheerleaders giggle, and three of them actually clutch each other's arms. Spencer is totally their king. He makes a half-bow, and waves his hand in the air.

"Thank you, thank you," he says, but he doesn't miss the two cheerleaders at the back of the group, the ones who aren't smiling. It's okay, he tells himself, because they are probably dead inside and have no souls to speak of. Maybe they're even robots. Either way, Spencer resolves that they will grow up alone, and will then die miserably and be eaten by wolves.

"Next performance, same time tomorrow," Brendon says, with an awkward grin. His gaze darts to the cheerleaders, and then back to Spencer. Spencer does not let his smile slide one little bit, because if Brendon wants to continue to pretend that he's doing just fine, then Spencer isn't going to let on that he knows what's wrong until he figures out how to fix this.

A few of the cheerleaders clap, and Spencer tightens his hold on Brendon's shoulder. He ducks his head and presses an awkward kiss to Brendon's warm cheek.

 _Yeah_ , he thinks, trying to ignore the wobbly feeling in his stomach as he thinks about Brendon being alone. _Totally going to fix this_.

  
artwork by aredblush.

~*~

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Spencer says, out loud. He's half way up the stairs on his way to his next class when he stops, right there in the middle of everyone trying to get to where they need to be. Someone bumps into his back, and Spencer makes a face. "Watch out," he says, folding his arms. He's forgotten his notebook. Or rather, he'd dumped his notebook in with Brendon's books when he'd walked him to his locker at the end of their lunch period, and he'd forgotten to get it back from him. He totally knows Brendon's locker combination, because relationships that make it through are built on a basis of trust and sharing information, so Spencer had shared lots of important things about himself and then Brendon had done the same. Spencer knew Brendon's locker combination and the password to his computer and his mom's name before she married his dad, and Brendon knew the same about him. Without secrets, their relationship was destined to make it through the rocky patches, just like the websites told him.

He turns back around and pushes through the throng of people trying to make it up the stairs to class. "Watch out," he yells, "flyhalf coming through."

Sure enough, a path opens up down the middle of the crowded stairwell, and Spencer holds his hand up so that people can high-five him as he makes his way back down the stairs towards the hallway where Brendon's locker is. A few kids wish him good luck for Friday's game, and Spencer thanks them, as modestly as he can manage. He is a very good flyhalf. The school will miss him when he is gone. They would totally be going to state this year if it wasn't for Spencer's stupid knee injury earlier in the season. Luckily he can still take them there next year before he graduates. The cup will look pretty awesome in the school foyer, where everyone can see it and remember that Spencer is awesome. Maybe he can have his name on a plaque so that everyone knows it was Spencer who led them to victory.

The bell rings to let everybody know they have one minute left before the tardy bell, and the surge of kids trying to get to class speeds up just a little. Spencer doesn't change his pace because he is the flyhalf, and he doesn't get tardy slips. Or if he does, at least they don't actually _matter_. He spots Zack at the bottom of the stairs, and stops to bump fists, ignoring the kids having to climb the stairs single file because he and Zack are standing right in the middle of the staircase.

Zack looks amused, as usual, and he ruffles Spencer's hair, probably just because Zack knows that it annoys the hell out of Spencer when people touch his hair. Zack is one of the only people to get away with fucking with Spencer's hair, and Spencer tells everyone that this is because Zack is the team captain and deserves respect, but really it is because if it came to a fight, Zack's twice as wide as him and twice as heavy and six times as tall and could pin Spencer to the ground with a simple tackle, so long as Spencer stayed still long enough for Zack to catch him. Spencer has played far too many practice games of rugby with Zack.

"You just wish you had hair as awesome as mine," Spencer says, rolling his eyes.

Zack just grins, and pats his own hair, shaved really close to his head. "Yeah, right," he says. "Shaved is about a million times better than your stupid hair."

Spencer looks disgusted. His hair is amazing, thank you very much. "Don't say such terrible things," he says. "My hair is awesome."

"Sure it is, little dude," Zack says.

Spencer folds his arms. "You are going to be late," he says, severely, because the tardy bell is about to go.

"So are you," Zack retorts.

"But I am the flyhalf," Spencer points out, "and people love me."

Zack just laughs, which is not the right response at all.

"Shut up," Spencer says, reproachfully. "Nobody hung black drapes when you were out with the flu."

"I know," Zack says, sadly. "I don't know how I get through the day."

"You're making fun of me," Spencer says. "Go away."

Zack punches Spencer in the shoulder, which only hurts like, a _lot_ , although Spencer's used to being beaten up by guys who are bigger than him. It's kind of the _point_. He makes a face anyway, and nudges Zack up the stairs towards his class. Then he takes the last couple of steps down at a jump, and hits the hallway just as the tardy bell rings, which is why the two kids currently pushing Brendon up against the lockers don't actually hear Spencer tumble out of the stairwell and into the hall.

Spencer comes to a complete standstill, because he can't make sense of what he's seeing. One of the guys has one hand on Brendon's shoulder, holding him still, and his other hand is mussing up Brendon's hair. The other kid is going through Brendon's backpack, and Brendon _isn't fighting back_. He's just standing there, looking miserable as the kids go through his stuff and laugh.

How fucking _dare_ they touch Brendon and his stuff like that, Spencer is going to punch them both in the face. He is going to hurt them, because Brendon is _his_ , and they are fucking with him, and that is completely unacceptable, and nobody gets to make Brendon look like he does right now, tired and miserable and— _accepting_. Like this is normal, and _acceptable_. Spencer always fights back. His mom laughs at him and calls him tenacious, and a pain in the ass, but Spencer _always fights back_.

"Hey," Spencer says, and his heart is beating so loud he can barely hear himself speak, so he says it louder, just in case the guys don't hear him. It's like his brain can't actually process what he's seeing, because right now he can see these two kids pushing Brendon back into the lockers, but he can't make himself understand what that actually _means_. " **Hey** ," he says, startling himself into moving at last. He heads down the hallway at a run. "Don't fucking touch him."

The kids look up at Spencer's shout, and fuck, they're not even _sophomores_. They're freshmen, kids who aren't even as tall as Brendon, with bad skin and stupid Green Day t-shirts. Spencer _owns_ that shirt. He's going to burn it. They dump Brendon's backpack on the floor and set off running down the hallway, laughing. Spencer isn't the flyhalf for nothing, he can run the length of a rugby pitch and still make the fucking try, so he isn't going to be outrun by two little dicksmacks who dare to touch Spencer's boyfriend.

Except, apparently, he can be stopped if Brendon's the one grabbing a hold of his shirt and stopping him, which is what happens.

"Spencer," Brendon manages, catching Spencer's arm as he sets off after them. "Don't do it. Don't go after them."

"Why _not_?" Spencer asks, fiercely. "Oh my god, did they hurt you?"

"No, they didn't," Brendon says, and he looks tired and worn out. "They didn't, and if you go after them you will only make it worse, so just _leave it_ , okay?"

"They were pushing you around, Brendon," Spencer says, desperately. There's a tight, horrible feeling in his stomach and he still doesn't get why Brendon wasn't fighting back. "They're only freshmen, why didn't you just punch them both in the face?"

Brendon's face closes up. "We're not all you," he says, and he hugs his backpack to his chest.

"If I go after them and punch them," Spencer says, evenly, which is more than he feels right now, because he's so mad he could burst, "then they won't do it again."

"Yeah," Brendon rolls his eyes. "That's just how it's going to work, I get it." He shakes his head, fumbling with the strap of his backpack. "Fuck, it's broken again. And I've got to get to class."

"You can't go to class after that," Spencer says, frowning. "You should go to the nurse's office, to get you checked out. We should go find them and tell them that they'll have me to answer to if they come near you again. We should go to the principal and get them expelled." His face clears. "Yeah, expelled," he says again. "We should get them expelled. That'd be awesome, right?"

"Just like that?" Brendon says. He doesn't sound as in awe of Spencer's idea as he should do, Spencer thinks. In fact, he sounds mad. Really mad. "You have no idea," he says, under his breath. "You have no fucking idea at all, and you will just make things _worse_ , and this is why I didn't tell you, okay? This."

Spencer does not understand any of this. He really, really doesn't. "They were hurting you," he says, slowly, "and they need to know they can't try that again. Why didn't you just fight back? I could show you how to rugby tackle them."

Brendon takes a deep breath. "I can't talk to you right now," he says, his voice tight. He turns away from Spencer and starts to walk down the hallway, away from Spencer. "I have to get to class."

"You can't go to class," Spencer calls after him. He feels shell-shocked, upset and mad. Suddenly all of this other stuff is making more sense in his head: Brendon telling him that first day they'd talked that someone had taken his shoes, his missing lunches, his swipe card disappearing. Brendon's mom's face. But he still can't understand what he saw, or why Brendon would let those kids push him around. He can't understand why Brendon didn't want Spencer to hurt them, or why getting them expelled wasn't the best idea anyone had ever had. He starts to jog down the hallway after Brendon, but Brendon just speeds up his pace. The hallway is empty apart from the two of them, but Spencer can hear footsteps close by. "Brendon," Spencer says. " _Brendon_."

"Mr. _Smith_ ," Mr. Vasquez calls after him, just as Brendon rounds the corner. It's just Mr. Vasquez and Spencer in the hallway, and Spencer considers just ditching him and running after Brendon. He doesn't have a clue what he'd say to Brendon, though, and his head's a mess. He stops in his tracks and turns around, one eyebrow raised, waiting for whatever Mr. Vasquez has to say to him. "You are late," Mr. Vasquez says. "Come here for a tardy slip, and you can see me in detention."

"I can't," Spencer says, dismissively. He has to get to Brendon, so that Spencer can figure this stuff out. He wants to know why Brendon just let those kids push him around. They were only freshmen. Spencer could have had them both. Easily.

"You _can_ ," Mr. Vasquez tells him. "If you want to play in the rugby game on Friday, then you will see me in detention."

Spencer swallows. "This isn't fair," he says, softly. He clenches his hands into fists. Brendon's never walked away from him mad before, and Spencer doesn't like the way it makes him feel. He hadn't liked not understanding, but he likes beginning to understand even less. His chest feels tight.

"It's never fair," Mr. Vasquez says, rolling his eyes. "With you, it's never fair."

Spencer doesn't even care enough to complain. He takes his tardy slip and races off down the hallway, but Brendon is long gone and Spencer has to get to class.

~*~

Spencer doesn't listen to anything his trigonometry teacher says for the remainder of the period. He sits in the back of class and stares up at the board and thinks about Brendon being pushed up against those lockers, and how he didn't even make a single move to fight off those stupid dicksmack kids. They were _freshmen_ , and Spencer doesn't understand why Brendon didn't just push them to one side and go to class. All of this time, kids had been taking Brendon's lunch and his swipe card and his _shoes_ and messing with his hair and Brendon _hadn't done anything_ to stop them.

He doesn't get any of this.

Spencer sneaks his phone out of his pocket and texts Brendon, _ru ok? xoxo_ , and then he texts Ryan, _meet me after class?_

He doesn't get a reply to either, but when class lets out, Ryan's leaning up against the wall outside Spencer's classroom.

"How'd you get out early?" Spencer asks.

Ryan shrugs. "Skill and determination," he says.

Spencer raises an eyebrow.

"I told her I was sick," Ryan amends. "Nobody ever wants me to hurl in their class, it's an awesome way of getting out early. But if anyone asks, I'm puking."

Spencer nods, wrinkling his nose. Ryan has learnt from the best.

"What's up?" Ryan says, elbowing Spencer in the side. "Did they spell your name wrong on your spirit box again?"

Spencer shakes his head. "Well, yes, okay. They did. How hard is it to spell my name, anyway? I'm going to put out a memo."

"You always say that," Ryan tells him.

"Well, I always mean to." He shrugs. "Can we go to the arts magazine office?"

Ryan watches him for a moment, eyes narrowed. "Sure," he says, finally. "Sure we can."

~*~

"I just don't get it," Spencer complains, swinging in a circle on Ryan's chair. "Like, I'd be embarrassed too if some freshman was pushing me around, but I don't get why he didn't just punch them in the face."

Ryan looks down at the floor, then back up at Spencer. "Spence," he says, softly. Ryan's never quiet. "We're not all you, you know."

"I know," Spencer says, rolling his eyes. "There can only ever be one of me. It's what makes me so awesome. But we were talking about Brendon."

Ryan shakes his head. "Spence," he says, again. "We can't all be the flyhalf. We can't all be _you_."

"Yes," Spencer says, slowly, because Ryan is being an idiot, and Spencer only has a few minutes before he has to go to practice. "There is only one flyhalf per team. We've been through this."

Ryan punches him in the shoulder. "Stop being an idiot. We're not talking about rugby."

"We should be," Spencer says, grouchily. He loves rugby. If it wasn't for Brendon being weird then he and Ryan could be talking about rugby right now. He hates that this is happening and that he has to deal with it instead of everything just being _normal_. He wants to talk about rugby and not think about Brendon dealing with all of this alone. He checks his phone again, just to see if he's accidentally put it on silent and Brendon's tried to call.

"For fuck's sake," Ryan says. "Some of us can't always fight back, okay? Sometimes people push us around and we can't fight back because it doesn't make anything better. Sometimes it's better to just let it happen and then get on with everything else."

Spencer swallows. "What?" he says, because it sounds a lot like Ryan knows what he's talking about, and if anyone has ever tried to push Ryan around then Spencer is going to hurt them. If Ryan has been hiding things from him like Brendon has then he is going to be _mad_. If anyone has been stealing Ryan's shit then he is going to go over to their houses and rugby tackle them all. He is going to make a list, and he is going to check it twice, and then he is going to make sure everyone knows that they can't push Spencer's friends around. "When did this happen? Who do I have to hurt?"

" _Spencer_ ," Ryan says. "It's nothing, okay. Nobody pushes me around, because of you. But if you weren't you, then they might, and I'm just saying. Maybe I wouldn't fight back."

Spencer doesn't get any of this. "Why not?" he asks, stupidly. "Why wouldn't you just push them back?"

Ryan runs his hands through his hair. "I'm going to say this once, okay?" He leans over and touches at Spencer's shoulder. "You are my best friend, and I love you, but you can sometimes be monumentally dense. Not everybody's life is the same as yours. Some of us just have to get used to things being less than perfect."

Spencer lets out a confused breath. "Nobody's hurting you, right?" The idea of someone _hurting_ Brendon takes his breath away. He thinks about Brendon's torn jeans, and the broken strap of his backpack, his shoes with his name on the heel so that no one will take them. Brendon's mom's face. "Ryan?"

Ryan shakes his head. "No, Spence."

"Okay," Spencer nods, trying not to chew on his lip. "That's good."

"Yeah," Ryan agrees. "It is. What are you going to do about Brendon?"

"He's ignoring my texts," Spencer admits, staring down at his phone and checking it again. Still nothing.

Ryan shrugs. "You want me to come over later? After practice?"

"Yeah," Spencer nods. He's still confused. He can't ever imagine a situation where he wouldn't try and fight back, and all he can think about is Brendon's face while those kids were going through his stuff. Tired and resigned. He wants his boyfriend so badly right now, but he just doesn't know what to say to him. "I have to get to practice."

"Yeah," Ryan says, and he bumps Spencer's shoulder with his own. "I'll bring Sour Patch Kids with me later."

"Awesome," Spencer lies. He wants to sit with Brendon and read his stupid Harry Potter book. "We can divide them in half, totally equally."

"We never do it equally," Ryan says. "You always steal half the green ones when you think I'm not looking."

"Do not," Spencer does not admit to stealing anything, even if it's true. He gathers his stuff up, because he has to get to practice. He turns around by the door and says, "You steal the red ones."

"I'll see you later," Ryan says, rolling his eyes and throwing a balled up piece of paper at Spencer's head.

Spencer nods. "Okay," he says, checking his phone one more time. Nothing. "Okay."

~*~

Ryan's not there when Spencer gets home from school, and there still isn't a text from Brendon on his phone even though Spencer's sent him at least five texts at the last count. He grabs a can of Coke from the fridge and goes to find his mom, who is doing paperwork on the table in the dining room.

"Hey, Peg-leg," she says, taking off her glasses. "Your dad's going to make dinner in a while. Good day at school?"

"No," Spencer says, moodily. He drops down onto one of the dining chairs and fiddles with the ring pull. "And you can't call me that, it's abuse."

"It's affectionate," his mom says. She watches him for a moment. "You okay, baby?"

Spencer shrugs. "Brendon isn't talking to me," he says.

"Oh," she says, and nods, folding the arms of her glasses closed and putting them on the table on top of her papers. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Spencer says. "Why do you always think it's me that's done something?"

"Because it usually is," she says. "Did you forget to shower after practice?"

"Wanted to see if I could see Brendon's audition for the end of year show," he admits. "But I missed it, and he was gone anyway, so I could have showered."

"Okay," his mom says, eyeing Spencer's filthy shirt. "Do you want to tell me what happened? Then you can go wash, because I'm pretty sure you brought all the mud from the rugby field home with you."

Spencer shrugs, picking at the dried mud on his shirt. "It's so totally stupid," he starts, and then it all comes out in a rush. "I left my notebook with Brendon's books, because I was carrying them for him because that's what good boyfriends do, right? So I went back to get it out of his locker, but then the tardy bell went and I got back to his locker and there were these kids pushing him around. They were pushing him, Mom, and I wanted to punch them both in the face, I'm not even kidding. I'm still going to, and I don't care if they do suspend me, because they were being dicks to him, and one of them was going through his _backpack_ , Mom. And they were fucking with his hair. And he doesn't have any friends."

His mom doesn't even bug him about his language. She just looks terribly sad, all of a sudden. She looks like Spencer feels, and Spencer hadn't realized that he felt so sad before he saw it echoed on his mom's face. The clawing feeling in his stomach makes more sense, now.

"I don't get why he didn't punch them himself, Mom," he says, slowly. "They were _freshmen_."

His mom smiles, sadly. "Sometimes when we're being bullied, Spencer, we don't always get to fight back."

"Brendon isn't being bullied," Spencer says, quickly, even though he knows that Brendon _is_. His boyfriend is being bullied. "He's awesome."

"Oh, Spencer," his mom says. "I know he is, sweetheart. He's really awesome."

Spencer nods, miserably. He doesn't even tell his mom off for trying to sound like a teenager when she hasn't been one in forever. "He isn't getting bullied," he says again, because maybe if he says it enough it'll be true.

"I think we both know he is," she says, gently. "I think maybe he has been for a while now."

"Why didn't he _tell_ me?" Spencer asks, because this can't be true, it just can't be. Brendon is awesome and incredible and people can't be bullying him, because people can't be that crappy, they just can't. But everything is starting to fit together in his head, now, all the clues that hadn't made any sense to Spencer before all starting to lead to this one place, this one realization that Brendon is being bullied, and Spencer is the boyfriend who hadn't noticed until today.

"Maybe he didn't want you to know."

"But I don't get _why_ ," Spencer says. He feels like he wants to cry. Who would want to hurt _Brendon_? "I could have protected him," Spencer goes on. "If he'd told me, I could have protected him."

His mom stands up and kisses him on the forehead. "Sometimes you can't protect the people you love from everything, no matter how much you want to."

"I'm going to protect him from this," Spencer says, fiercely, because he is. He is going to make sure that nobody ever hurts Brendon, ever again.

If he can get Brendon to talk to him again, that is.

"It doesn't work like that, sweetheart," she says. "Maybe he doesn't want you fighting his battles for him."

"Well, what _can_ I do?" Spencer asks, something catching in his throat at the thought of what Brendon's been hiding from him all of this time. He must have felt so alone. There's a lump in his throat, and his mom wraps her arms around his shoulders and kisses the top of his head. Spencer blinks furiously to stop himself from just giving in and crying.

"I don't know," his mom tells him, hugging him tight. "I just don't know. But you'll think of something."

~*~

When Spencer comes downstairs again after his shower, his dad is in the kitchen, chopping vegetables to go on top of a huge pizza base.

"There'd better be meat on that pizza," Spencer says, suspiciously, leaning over the counter and peering over his dad's shoulder. "Veggie pizzas are weird and should be outlawed. Like in Robin Hood."

"Hello, Spencer," his dad says, chopping mushrooms. "Hello, Dad. Did you have a good day? Yes, I did, thank you. How about you, son?"

Spencer rolls his eyes. "You are so weird," he says. "My day sucked." He nods at the pizza. "Meat, Dad. Where's the meat?"

"There's are two meat ones in the fridge," he says, nodding back across the kitchen. "One's chicken and one's beef and pepperoni. That enough meat for you?"

"No," Spencer says, tugging open the fridge door, just to make sure. "More meat, always. Can you put pepperoni on that one too?"

"Well," his dad says. "Sometimes we have vegetarian guests. It doesn't hurt to be prepared."

Spencer's stomach twists. "Brendon's not coming over," he says, shutting the fridge door. He doesn't feel all that hungry anymore. "He's not talking to me. You can put all the pepperoni you want on it and it won't matter."

"What did you do?"

"Why do you and Mom both assume that it's something _I_ did?" Spencer complains. "Not everything is my fault, you know. Ice caps melting, that's not my fault. The twins being the most annoying sisters in the world, that's not my fault either. Anyway, Brendon hasn't got any friends and he's being bullied and I found out and now he won't talk to me, so everything is screwed and I hate everyone."

"Ah," his dad says. "Come and put these mushrooms on the pizza while I chop up the tomatoes. Don't make that face, I know you like making sure they're all symmetrical."

"Ryan's coming over," Spencer says, mutinously, folding his arms. He doesn't want to help with dinner.

"It's a good thing I've made extra, then," his dad says. "Ryan eats more than the rest of us put together. Come here."

Spencer makes a face. His dad pushes the cutting board over towards him, and Spencer half-heartedly starts putting mushrooms in a big circle around the edge of the pizza.

"What happened?" his dad asks.

Spencer shrugs. "He lied to me and pretended he had people to hang out with that weren't me, but he _doesn't_. And then I left my notebook in his locker and when I went back to get it, these kids were pushing him around."

"That must have been hard to see," his dad says.

"It sucked," Spencer says. "It totally fucking sucked. I'm going to go to their houses and punch them in the face."

"Or not," his dad says, frowning. "It must have been hard for Brendon, too, having you find out."

"No," Spencer says. "What's hard about that? Now he's got me on his side. For face punching." He starts his second circle of mushrooms on the pizza. "If he ever talks to me again, that is."

His dad shrugs. "It's embarrassing when people find out our secrets. Remember when Ryan found out you still took Mr. Floofy to bed with you?"

Spencer blushes bright red. "No," he says. "I don't even know what you're talking about." Mr. Floofy had been his stuffed animal growing up. Ryan's discovery of him in Spencer's bed when Spencer had been thirteen had been a terrible, awful accident, and one that Ryan has never let him forget. Mr. Floofy lives in the bottom drawer of Spencer's closet now, behind a stack of old comics and a rolled-up Backstreet Boys poster from when he was eleven.

His dad raises an eyebrow.

"Shut up," Spencer says. "And there aren't enough mushrooms for an inner circle."

"Chop some more, then," his dad suggests. There's a pause. "Spencer - Brendon—Is he getting bullied because of the two of you? Is this—" His dad sounds really uncomfortable and his cheeks are pink. "Is this because the two of you are dating?"

Spencer shrugs, and picks at the mushrooms in front of him. "I don't know," he says. "I don't think so? The first day he talked to me he told me people had stolen his shoes. We weren't dating then. I just didn't get what it all meant because I'm an _idiot_." The idea that Brendon might be getting bullied because of _Spencer_ , because of _them_ —it makes Spencer's heart hurt. He concentrates on the pizza, and the neat circles of mushrooms curling in towards the center.

Spencer's dad sounds furious. "That _school_ ," he says.

"That's what Brendon's mom said when she found out Brendon's lunch and his swipe card had gone missing," Spencer tells his dad. This is the worst day _ever_. He has never wanted his boyfriend more. Fuck, what if Brendon breaks up with him?

"I think your mom and I should go in and see the principal," his dad says. "Just in case it is, uh, because you and Brendon are dating."

"What, no _way_ ," Spencer says. "That is so embarrassing. I am not being bullied."

"But Brendon is," his mom says, from the doorway. "I agree with your dad. If this is because of your sexuality then we need to make sure we've raised it before it's an issue -"

Spencer burns red. His mom has never said _your sexuality_ before. He doesn't really know what to say.

"It might help Brendon," his mom says, in the end.

"I really don't want you to go in," Spencer says, after a moment. He really, really doesn't. He doesn't want to make him dating Brendon into a _thing_. He just wants to make out with his boyfriend and have everyone else know Brendon's awesome, the same way that he does. Maybe he should hand out fliers, like they did for Brendon's show. Maybe not.

"I know, champ," his dad says. He leans over to ruffle Spencer's still-wet hair. Spencer ducks away. "But we're still going to call up and make an appointment in the morning."

"It's for the best," his mom says, in response to Spencer's mutinous face.

"It probably isn't," Spencer says, as the doorbell rings. "If Brendon breaks up with me over this then I'm blaming you guys."

"Spencer -" his mom says, as Spencer heads for the door, trying to get there before Jackie comes running down the stairs. He can see Ryan's outline through the frosted glass panels in the door.

" _Jackie_ ," Spencer complains. "It's Ryan, go away."

"I'm answering the door," Jackie says, elbowing him in the side. "Move out of the way. Hi, Ryan."

"Hi," Ryan says. "Which one are you again?" Ryan's been saying this to the twins since he was five years old. Jackie and Crystal still laugh at it, which just goes some way to proving Spencer's theory that his sisters are both mentally deficient.

"Oh my god," Spencer says. "Go _away_ , Jackie."

"Be nice to your sisters, Spencer," his mom calls. "Hi, Ryan."

"Hi, Mrs. Smith," Ryan says loudly, making a face at Spencer.

" _You_ be nice to them," Spencer yells, and grabs Ryan's elbow. "They're your weird daughters. Come on, we're going upstairs."

"You should give me my own key," Ryan tells Mrs. Smith, hanging over the bannister. "Then your kids wouldn't have to fight over me at the door every day."

"Stop talking to my _mom_ ," Spencer says, and tugs out his phone to text Brendon again.

~*~

When Ryan finally finishes talking to Spencer's mom and follows Spencer into his bedroom, closing the door behind him, he pulls out two packs of Sour Patch Kids and his iPod from his backpack. "I made you a playlist," he says, sprawling on to the bed next to Spencer. He elbows Spencer once, then again when Spencer doesn't move. "So, you know. You might want to plug this in."

Spencer frowns, and looks down at his phone screen. There still isn't a message envelope icon where his relationship with Brendon should be. "He's not talking to me," Spencer says, miserably.

"I know, I know," Ryan says, exasperatedly. He rolls over on top of Spencer and fumbles with Spencer's iPod dock.

Spencer lets out an _oomph_ , because Ryan is all elbows and knees and stupid pointy bits. "Oh my _god_ ," he complains, trying to push Ryan away. Ryan is like a jellyfish, or an octopus, all limbs, except he's _pointy_. A pointy jellyfish. "What are you even doing?"

"Providing you with musical accompaniment," Ryan says, his elbow in Spencer's stomach. "Stop complaining and shut up."

"You are the worst best friend in the world," Spencer complains. He shoves Ryan further over, and reaches for the Sour Patch Kids. "You opened these."

"I was hungry," Ryan says, as _Boys Don't Cry_ by The Cure blasts out.

" _Ryan_ ," Spencer splutters. "You can't put that on."

"I _can_ ," Ryan says, stubbornly. He steals a handful of Sour Patch Kids. "It's a _why Brendon might not have told you_ playlist."

Spencer closes his eyes and lets out a breath. "You are the worst best friend ever," he says.

Ryan rolls his eyes and elbows Spencer in the side. "Do you have anything to drink?" he asks.

"Downstairs," Spencer says. "You drank all of my supply."

Ryan makes a face. "Go get me a Coke," he says. "And snacks, if you've got any. Has your dad got any of that cake left?"

"There's going to be pizza, but I'll get you a drink," Spencer says, because anything is better than listening to more of Ryan's iPod.

"I'll pause the playlist," Ryan says. "Hurry up."

Spencer sighs, and pokes Ryan in the side. "I am not your slave," he says.

"'Course not. I'm just going to IM Jon, so take your time to grab me a drink," Ryan says, already booting up Spencer's computer. Spencer lets out an exasperated sigh and stomps downstairs to find them both drinks.

~*~

"I'm getting Ryan a Coke," Spencer announces, pushing past his mom's chair to get into the kitchen. The overhead fan hums lazily and the pizza Spencer was helping to prepare is gone from the countertop. The kitchen smells warm and inviting, the pizzas cooking in the oven and garlic bread cooling on the rack by the sink, but Spencer is too pissed with his mom and dad to stop and sniff the air, like he normally does when there are pizzas in the oven. He loves the smell of pizza.

"Spencer -" his mom says.

"I have to go upstairs," Spencer says, tugging two cans of Coke out of the box in the fridge. "Ryan is pining for me."

"Spencer, look at this," his dad says. He's sitting at the table, next to his mom, and there's a stack of books in between them.

Spencer rolls his eyes. He's sick to death of these books. It's _So, Your Kid Is Gay_ volumes one to thirty-six, coupled with, _Ah, Your Son Is A Homosexual_ parts one to a hundred. He has no idea what there could possibly be to say about him liking boys instead of girls that could fill that whole pile of books his parents keep reading and bookmarking, but apparently it's fascinating because they just keep on reading them, one after the other. "What this time," he says. "Shocker on page six, I don't want to date a girl?"

"Spencer," his mom says, reprovingly.

"I'm busy, Mom," Spencer says. He taps his foot.

"We think you should think about starting one of these up," his dad says, holding out a book for Spencer to look at.

"My hands are full," Spencer says, without moving. He has a can of Coke in each hand and anyway, whatever this is, it's not going to be good.

"A Gay-Straight Alliance," his dad says, showing Spencer one of the books. "You could start one at your school."

"No," Spencer says, and shakes his head. "No way."

"It's a good idea," his mom says, twisting around in his chair. Her glasses slide down her nose. "It might _help_."

"It's the worst idea ever," Spencer says. "I'm going upstairs."

"Think about it," his dad says. "It could be a really good thing that you and Brendon could do together."

"He's not talking to me," Spencer says, "and he's probably going to dump me, so we're not going to get to do anything together ever again." Spencer thinks about kissing Brendon, about sliding his hands around Brendon's wrists and having Brendon kiss him back, over and over and how it's kind of the most amazing thing he's ever done. Today fucking sucks.

"Glad to see you're not blowing things out of proportion," his mom says, rolling her eyes. "Do we have to have a talk?"

"No," Spencer snaps, dumping his can of Coke on the counter by the dishwasher, unopened. Suddenly he's not thirsty anymore. "We have to stop my boyfriend being _bullied_ , and we have to make him talk to me again, and we have to figure out why nobody in the whole school apart from _me_ likes him, and you need to _stop suggesting stupid stuff_ , and I am _going upstairs_."

"Spencer," his dad says, sharply. "Sit down."

Spencer slumps down into the chair nearest the back door. "What," he says, grumpily. He wants to check his phone in case Brendon has texted him back. Maybe he could go over and see if he's okay. Maybe he's online and Spencer could ping him on instant messenger. Maybe Spencer's totally wrong and Brendon's happy at school and everyone loves him, like they _should_. "I'm not talking about the stupid Gay-Straight Alliance."

His parents exchange glances. "Alright," his mom says. "We'll leave that for now. Spencer, we're still going to go in and speak to the principal in the morning."

Spencer nods, but doesn't meet their eyes. Tomorrow is _game day_ , and there couldn't be a worse day for his parents to come in to school to talk about _bullying_ , what the fuck, but Spencer knows his parents and they are stubborn and annoying, and they never ever give in.

"But before that we want to make sure you don't do anything stupid," his dad says, carefully. "We know you're upset and angry—"

"What your dad is trying to say," his mom breaks in, "is that if there is any hint of face-punching or suspension or fighting or retaliation then you will be grounded for the _whole summer_ , do you understand me?"

" _Mom_ ," Spencer says.

"I will make you sleep in the _shed_ ," she says. "If we get called in because you've been fighting then we will make you sleep in the shed until _Christmas_."

"It doesn't count as grounding if you're making me sleep in the shed," Spencer says mulishly. "It's outside the house."

His mom raises her eyebrows. "Do you want to test that theory out?" she says. She sighs, letting out a breath. "No hitting, Spencer, we're serious. You're going to be a senior next year. College is on the horizon. You have a future to think about."

"That's ages away," Spencer says. He taps his fingers against the table edge, and doesn't say anything for a moment. "Does rugby tackling count?" he asks.

"If it's off the field," his dad says, "then it counts."

"The _shed_ , Spencer."

"Okay, okay," Spencer says, rolling his eyes. "I will not get caught punching anyone in the face, okay?"

His dad raises one eyebrow.

"Fine," Spencer says, exasperatedly. "I will not punch anyone in the face, whatever. Can I go now?" The memory of his password-protected porn folders is still fresh in his memory and he is very aware that Ryan is alone upstairs with Spencer's computer.

"Be patient with Brendon," his mom says, softly. "Having you find out is probably the last thing he wanted."

Spencer's face falls. "I hate everyone who doesn't realize how great he is," he says.

"Well," his mom shrugs, looking down at the stack of books on the table and not at Spencer. "Maybe you have to step up and be awesome enough for everyone else, too."

~*~

Ryan's sitting on the stairs outside the kitchen, eating his way through the pack of Sour Patch Kids.

"Oh," Spencer says. "You heard all that, right?"

"Yep," Ryan says. "Saves you having to tell me when you came back upstairs, anyway." He holds one out. "I saved you a green one."

"Brendon's favorite," Spencer says, miserably, reaching for it and biting its tiny green head off.

Ryan rolls his eyes, and passes Spencer his phone. "You got a text," he says. "I didn't read more than the first line."

Spencer lunges for it, and the rest of the candy spills across the stair as Ryan holds Spencer's phone up above his head. Spencer is not the star rugby player for no reason at all, though, and Ryan squawks as Spencer knees him in the stomach.

" _Boys_ ," Spencer's mom says, reprovingly, from the kitchen doorway.

"Ryan's fault," Spencer says automatically, keeping Ryan pinned to the floor by the stairs and holding his phone up so that Ryan can't reach it to bat it away. He clicks open the message envelope. It's a text from Brendon that just says, _sorry bout earlier. Dont hate me?x_

"Oh," Spencer says, and he rolls off Ryan and sits on the bottom step. _couldnt even if i tried_ , he types. _meet me before school tomorrow?xxxx_

"Four kisses, huh," Ryan says, peering over Spencer's shoulder.

"Stop reading my private texts," Spencer says, elbowing him. "Personal space is very important, weirdo."

"Told you he wasn't going to dump you," Ryan says, poking him in the side.

"You didn't," Spencer says. "You made me a playlist called _Boys Don't Cry_."

Ryan rolls his eyes. "It was called _Why Brendon Might Not Have Told You_ , duckweed."

"Duckweed?"

Ryan nods his head towards Spencer's mom. "Duckweed," he repeats, as if being overheard by Spencer's mom is enough of a reason for him to make up ridiculous names to call Spencer. She just rolls her eyes and closes the door into the kitchen. She probably thinks Ryan is ridiculous too.

"Right," Spencer says, as his phone buzzes again. He holds it out of the way of Ryan so that he can't see it, but Ryan just shoves him and peers over his shoulder. Brendon's text says _ill be there. Do u still want me to bring my sign 4 the rugby game?_

"Aww," Ryan says. "Is he making you another sign?"

"Your boyfriend doesn't make _you_ signs," Spencer says, cheerfully. He thumbs in, _yyyyyyyy_ and presses send. "Oh, fuck," he says, after a moment, his face falling. "You think he's going to get punched if he makes me a sign?"

Ryan shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe," he says. "I don't know." He frowns, uncharacteristically serious.

"You'll let him sit with you, right?" Spencer says. "At the pep rally, and at the game. At lunch when I've got that stupid strategy meeting with Coach."

Ryan nods, and rolls his eyes. "I'll follow him around all day, don't worry."

"I mean it," Spencer says. "Don't leave him alone."

Ryan bumps his knee against Spencer's. "You got it," he says, softly, and Spencer lets out a breath.

~*~

"Spencer," his mom says, rubbing her eyes and pulling her robe closed over her pajamas. "What are you _doing_?"

"Making Brendon a spirit box," Spencer says, spooning out snickerdoodle mix on to a baking sheet to go in the oven. "Do we have powdered sugar?"

"In the cupboard above the spaghetti," his mom says, sitting down at the kitchen table. "Spencer, it's five-thirty in the morning. What are you doing _up_?"

"Making Brendon a spirit box," Spencer says, again. He licks the back of the spoon as he slides the baking sheet onto the shelf in the oven. "Do you think we have any of that ribbon shit? Or glitter. My spirit boxes always have ribbons and stuff all over them."

"Does Brendon _like_ ribbons and glitter?"

Spencer looks puzzled. "I don't know. Do you think he doesn't? Should I do something different?"

"Spencer," his mom says, again. "Sit down and explain to me what you are doing up at five thirty in the morning, baking cookies, and why you are making Brendon a spirit box."

"They're snickerdoodles," Spencer says, absently. He tips powdered sugar across the countertop by accident. "I made peanut butter cookies too, though, but they're still too hot to eat."

"Sit down, Spencer."

Spencer sits down. "Mom, spirit boxes are awesome. And Brendon is awesome." His brow furrows. "Do you think it's a bad idea? Is he going to hate it if I leave it in his locker for him?"

"I don't think he's going to hate it," his mom says, carefully. "I think he's probably going to like it a lot."

"Good," Spencer says, letting out a breath. "What about tissue paper? Do we have tissue paper? I need something to line the box with."

His mom sighs. "Put the timer on for the cookies, Spencer. And then press the on-switch on the coffee machine. Come on, we'll get the crafting box out and see what we can rustle up."

"Thanks," Spencer says, in relief. "I printed out a picture of a frog to go on the top."

His mom blinks. "Sure you did," she says, patting his shoulder.

~*~

Usually game days are Spencer's favorite days, but today he's more preoccupied with finding Brendon than he is with the line of kids waiting by the bike racks to high-five him.

"Aww," Ryan says, nudging into Spencer's back wheel with his bike. "Look, it's like you're their king."

"I know," Spencer says, a little distractedly. He holds a hand up to wave and someone cheers, but it isn't Brendon, so Spencer doesn't care. "I'd be an awesome king. Do you think I'd have to wear the crown all of the time?"

"You could probably take it off in the shower," Ryan says, thoughtfully.

"Hmm," Spencer says, and thinks about the carefully wrapped spirit box in his backpack, and how he wants to sneak inside to Brendon's locker and hide it before coming back outside to wait for Brendon's school bus to arrive.

"And sleeping," Ryan says, after a moment. "You could probably take it off in bed, but only if you put it on the pillow next to you."

"Well, that's good," Spencer agrees, locking his bike up one-handed and high-fiving each of the line in turn. Someone claps him on the back and Spencer manages a grin, unable to resist. Being the flyhalf is _awesome_ , and Spencer loves it, even when he's more preoccupied with his boyfriend than he is with school spirit. "Later, dudes," he says, and jogs across the parking lot and into the hallway, Ryan running after him.

"I hate it when you run," Ryan grumbles, hitting Spencer with his schoolbag.

"Don't you have some place to be that isn't here, watching me?" Spencer says.

"No," Ryan tells him. "Come on, you've got a locker to break in to and the buses will be here in a minute. And I have a boyfriend to go make out with before homeroom."

"Me too," Spencer says, and grins.

~*~

"I didn't put breaking and entering on my to-do list for today," Ryan muses, five minutes later. "That was my mistake, I see it now. I should have brought my balaclava."

"Shut up," Spencer says, scrabbling in the bottom of his backpack for his pencil case. "He gave me his locker combination, it is not my fault I've forgotten it. I wrote it down _somewhere_."

"It's like this couldn't be going worse," Ryan says, leaning against the locket next to Brendon's. "Did you think _total fucking disaster_ when you planned this out?"

"No," Spencer says, shortly. "Shut up. Have you got a ruler? Something I can jam in the lock?"

"Like that's going to work," Ryan says. "And your mom will make you sleep in the shed if you get caught breaking in to his locker."

"He is my boyfriend," Spencer says, brandishing his ruler with a satisfied _aha_ , "this does not count as breaking and entering."

"I'm pretty sure it does," Brendon says, from behind them.

"Fuck," Spencer says, and tries not to jump a mile. He hides his ruler behind his back. "Uh, hi?"

"Gosh," Ryan says, shoving Spencer's backpack at Spencer. "Is that the time? Got to go. People to make out with, you know. Boyfriends. People who aren't you guys."

"I hate him," Spencer says quickly, dropping his ruler on the floor and hoping Brendon won't notice. Ryan's already disappeared around the corner.

"So," Brendon says, nervously thumbing the strap of his backpack. "You're breaking in to my locker?"

"In a good way," Spencer says, and swallows. Brendon looks kind of awkward and uncertain, his hair sticking up on end like he's run his fingers through it too many times. He's chewing on his lip. Spencer wants to kiss him until he doesn't look like that anymore. He wants to touch Brendon's hair and slide his fingertips under the hem of Brendon's shirt. He is so stupid over Brendon he can't even put a name to how he feels anymore.

"There's a good way?" Brendon asks, folding his arms.

Spencer shrugs. "I was trying to leave you this," he says, flushing red. He fumbles with his backpack and swears at the zipper as he tugs out the spirit box, and holds it out for Brendon to take.

Brendon blinks. "What's that?" he asks, not making a move to take it.

"A spirit box," Spencer says, awkwardly. "I made it for you."

"It has a frog on the top," Brendon says.

"Yes," Spencer says, because it does. "I printed it out."

"But," Brendon says, uncomfortably. "Why'd you make me a spirit box?"

"Because spirit boxes are awesome and you're awesome and I wanted to do something nice for you?" Spencer mumbles. This seemed like a much better idea at five in the morning. He wonders if there's a hole he can go and hide in. He's so embarrassed. There are more people around now, the hallways filling up before homeroom. Every single person that walks by is watching them. They're all in school colors. Three kids have t-shirts with Spencer's face on them.

"Oh," Brendon says, softly, unfolding his arms. "Okay."

"You wanna, you know. Uh. You want to take it?" Spencer is still holding it out for Brendon to take. None of this is going how he planned it. He was going to meet Brendon off the bus and tell him how awesome he was, and then walk him to his locker and have him find the spirit box, and then he was going to break into the janitor's closet by the math classrooms and make out with Brendon until the tardy bell rang. That was his _plan_. It was a great plan. _That_ plan involved actual breaking and entering. And making out. Spencer is very aware of the lack of making out right now.

"Uh," Brendon says, and takes it. "Cool frog."

"Yeah," Spencer agrees. It _is_ a cool frog. "I knew you'd like it."

Brendon looks up, his eyes bright. "I do," he says, and he swallows, loudly, holding the box close to his chest. He doesn't look inside, which is kind of a shame since Spencer had used two different colors of tissue paper and the snickerdoodles tasted pretty good. "I thought you were going to break up with me. Why aren't you breaking up with me?"

Spencer blinks. "Uh," he says, eloquently. "I made you a spirit box instead?"

"Instead of breaking up with me?"

Spencer doesn't actually know what to say to that. Only a stupid person would think that Spencer was going to break up with Brendon. He doesn't think this is the moment to call Brendon stupid, though, so he leans forward and grabs Brendon's hand instead. He slides his fingers into Brendon's, and squeezes. "Why would you think I would break up with you?" he asks. Spencer's never breaking up with Brendon. He might even marry him someday, if the state pulls its finger out of its ass. He wonders where a state's ass might be.

"Because of, uh. What you saw yesterday? And we fought?"

"Mom and Dad made me promise not to punch those kids in the face," Spencer says, with dissatisfaction. He is very conscious of Brendon's hand in his, and how it feels to be able to touch Brendon like this, in public. He wants to show Brendon off to everyone. "And I'm never breaking up with you, so shut up."

"Oh," Brendon says. "You told your mom and dad?"

Spencer shrugs. "I guess," he says. "Maybe."

"Oh," Brendon says again, looking down at his feet. He's in his scruffy red converse with the sharpie on the heel. "That's embarrassing."

Spencer shakes his head, even though it kind of is. "It isn't," he says. "They were really mad."

"Mad at how lame I am," Brendon says, dully.

"No," Spencer says, frowning. "They're mad because you're being _bullied_ ," he says, and Brendon flinches.

"Shut up," Brendon says, a little desperately. "Don't say that."

Spencer watches him for a moment. The color is high in Brendon's cheeks, the flush staining his skin. He looks upset and nervous and unsure, and Spencer suddenly knows that Brendon is aware of every single glance of every single kid walking by them both. The flash of awareness is kind of new, and it doesn't exactly feel great.

"Okay," Spencer says, because making Brendon look like he does right now is on his list of things never to do again.

"Good," Brendon says, a little breathlessly. "I'm not," he says. "That was just- it was nothing."

"Okay," Spencer says again, because it wasn't nothing. He's even more sure now that he's having to listen to Brendon tell him that he was mistaken, that it wasn't anything, that it was just friendly screwing around. Spencer knows what all of those things look like, and what they didn't look like was Brendon's tired, resigned expression as the freshman boys went through his backpack yesterday afternoon. "So," he says, because talking right now seems like the best option, "you want to hear what my plan for this morning was meant to go like? Without the hitches?"

"Sure," Brendon says, still hugging his spirit box. Spencer wants to know how he managed to miss Brendon hiding this for so long. He sort of wants to punch himself in the face for being so oblivious. He squeezes Brendon's hand instead. Brendon manages the best part of a smile, and Spencer lets out a breath.

"It was going to be awesome," Spencer says. He spots Zack over the other side of the hallway, and raises his other hand in a sort-of wave. Zack grins and makes a face; Spencer rolls his eyes. Zack is cool. "There were going to be three kinds of cookies," he went on, "but I only had time to make two. Then I got here, and I was going to leave them in your locker and come meet you at your bus, but I forgot your locker combination."

"I changed it," Brendon says. He doesn't meet Spencer's eyes. "I, uh. I forgot the other one."

Spencer thinks, _sleep in the shed, sleep in the shed, sleep in the shed_. He's not going to punch anyone in the face. "Okay," he says, quickly. "Anyway, I was going to meet you, and tell you that you were awesome and amazing and stuff, and then I was going to walk you to your locker and you were going to find the spirit box and tell _me_ that I'm awesome and amazing and stuff, and then we were going to make out in the janitor's closet."

Brendon snorts. "That story ends with making out in the _janitor's closet_? That's a lame ending."

"Your face is lame," Spencer says. "Shut up."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Stupid," he says.

"You're stupid," Spencer says, again. "Want to go make out in a closet?"

"I guess," Brendon says, and Spencer frowns.

"You were going to be more enthusiastic than that. In my head, I mean."

Brendon bumps Spencer with his shoulder. "I am enthusiastic. It's just." He stops. "I thought you were going to break up with me because I wasn't cool enough," Brendon admits, in a small voice. He's hugging his spirit box to his chest. "Today was going to be the worst day ever."

Spencer suddenly does not want to make out in the janitor's closet. He most definitely does not want to make out anywhere that makes Brendon look like he thinks Spencer's trying to hide him away, which he _isn't_. He just maybe wants to see if he can sneak his hand under Brendon's shirt and he can't do that when they're in the middle of the hallway. "Let me kiss you," Spencer says, quickly.

"What, now?" Brendon looks stunned.

"Yes, now," Spencer says. It isn't like they don't hold hands in the hallway all the time and it isn't like they haven't kissed like, fifty times in school, but it feels really important all of a sudden that they do it today, that they do it _now_ , that they do it here."I'm not breaking up with you any time soon, you dumbass," he says, and he tugs on Brendon's hand.

Brendon lets out a breath. "I thought -" he starts. He waves his spirit box in the air in some kind of _you were going to break up with me_ mime that only Spencer can understand.

"Yes, well," Spencer says, "you thought wrong." He closes the distance between them so he can cup Brendon's face in his hand. He strokes the pad of his thumb across Brendon's cheek, and Brendon stutters out a breath. Spencer ducks his head and presses his mouth to Brendon's; he's aware of people looking but even though it makes his cheeks flush, he doesn't pull away. He kisses Brendon again, and Brendon hums softly against his mouth and kisses him back, the hand holding the spirit box sliding into the curve of Spencer's back.

 _This_ , Spencer thinks _, is pretty awesome_.

~*~

"Um," Mr. Vasquez says, in a looming kind of way, "you boys are aware the late bell has rung, right?"

"Fuck," Spencer says, with a start, pulling away from Brendon and grinning. "Sorry, Mr. Vasquez. We've been busy making up."

"Yes," Mr. Vasquez says. "I can see that. I've written out your detention slips already."

"That's very forward thinking of you," Spencer says, rolling his eyes. He squeezes Brendon's hand. Brendon is biting his lip and trying not to laugh, Spencer can tell. Spencer's chest feels weirdly light and sort of fluttery; he bumps his elbow against Brendon's and doesn't move away again when Brendon nudges him in return.

"I've given you an extra one for being obnoxious," Mr. Vasquez tells Spencer, handing him two slips. Spencer opens his mouth to complain, but Mr. Vasquez makes a face. "Yes, I _can_ see the future. Yes, I know you have a rugby game this afternoon. Luckily I've dated the slips for next week. Isn't that great?"

Spencer thinks that Mr. Vasquez is far too happy about this whole detention thing. Clearly he really does have a very miserable home life if he prefers hanging out after school with kids who were just demonstrating their affection in the hallways. He starts to tell Mr. Vasquez this but Brendon grabs his sleeve.

"We have to go," Brendon says, quickly, before Spencer can say anything. "We have to get to class. Further our education, isn't that right, Spence?"

"That's right," Spencer agrees, nodding. Brendon is already tugging him down the hallway and around the corner. "See you in detention, Mr. Vasquez."

"You are an idiot," Brendon says, severely, pushing Spencer back against the lockers as soon as they're around the corner and out of sight of Mr. Vasquez. He slides his hand into Spencer's hair. "The _biggest idiot_."

"Yes," Spencer says, proudly. He lets Brendon fist his hand in his shirt and lets himself be tugged closer so that Brendon can kiss him again. "We are so late for class."

"Too late, really," Brendon says, against his mouth.

"Oh," Spencer says, and then he grins and kisses Brendon again. "Janitor's closet?"

"You say the sweetest things," Brendon says, grabbing Spencer's hand. "It's a wonder I don't _swoon_."

Spencer makes a face as Brendon tugs him down the hallway. "Don't do that," he says. "That's kind of weird."

"Your face is weird," Brendon says, and Spencer laughs, letting himself be dragged down the hall.

~*~

"So," Brendon says, half an hour later. "I've been thinking."

"Uh-huh," Spencer says, contenting himself with kissing the corner of Brendon's mouth again and sliding his hands into the nape of Brendon's neck. Brendon tastes like peanut butter cookie, and Spencer chases the taste with another kiss.

"Well," Brendon says, his head tipping back as Spencer mouths at the hollow of his throat. Spencer loves the way Brendon _smells_. It's totally fucking weird how much he likes it. "I'm pretty sure you should put your hand up my shirt."

Spencer makes an embarrassed, high-pitched noise and accidentally elbows the mop bucket and a cart full of cleaning stuff. He stumbles trying to make sure they don't fall; there is actually less room in this closet than he imagined. "What?" he manages. His voice sounds higher than he would actually like in this situation.

"Your hand," Brendon says, patiently, circling his fingers around Spencer's wrist, "my shirt." He pulls up his shirt and presses Spencer's hand to his stomach.

Spencer makes an involuntary noise, which is completely and utterly not his fault. "Oh _fuck_ ," he says, and strokes his fingers across Brendon's skin.

"Yes," Brendon says, possibly sounding a little breathless. Spencer can't tell over the rushing in his ears, because this is kind of amazing, but also incredibly _new_. Before today he has only gotten as far as sneaking his hand underneath the hem of Brendon's shirt, and he had thought that was pretty daring. This - this _open access_ to Brendon's skin is taking his breath away and now he's started he never wants to go back. He tentatively moves his hand across Brendon's stomach and on to Brendon's hip; Brendon is holding his shirt up and this should be weirdly awkward, but it _isn't_.

"Fuck," Spencer says again, trailing his fingertips up Brendon's side and under his shirt again. His thumb brushes Brendon's nipple and Brendon hisses in a breath. Spencer ducks in and presses a kiss to Brendon's jaw, Brendon's head tipping back as Spencer strokes Brendon's skin with his thumb. "Oh god, why didn't we do this before?"

"Because you're an idiot and kind of backward and you didn't try and take my shirt off," Brendon says, in between kisses.

"Huh," Spencer says, because that part at least is true. "Sorry?"

"Yeah, well, you should be," Brendon says, tugging his shirt up and over his head. He's blushing. "Look at what you missed out on."

Spencer manages a nod but doesn't try to speak just yet, because otherwise he's just going to fail to make syllables and fall over and nobody wants that. How is he supposed to win this rugby game later on when all he's going to be able to think about is his boyfriend, shirtless? Brendon is _amazing_. He is going to make Brendon walk around topless _forever_.

Brendon's skin is flushed pink and is warm to Spencer's touch, tiny flickers of anticipation running through him every time Brendon shivers under Spencer's hand. "I'm going to have to take your shirt off _all the time_ to make up for being such a bad boyfriend," Spencer says, finally. He's running his hands all over Brendon's skin, stroking his fingertips up Brendon's chest until he can cup Brendon's cheek in his hand and lean in for a kiss. It's a little shaky but he feels wound-tight and jumpy, hot all over and kind of desperate. Brendon gasps against his mouth and arches up against him, one hand tugging at Spencer's shirt so he can slide his hand up Spencer's back.

"You were supposed to take your shirt off too," Brendon says, in between kisses. "Are you always this bad at using your initiative?"

"I'm very good at taking instruction," Spencer tells him, which is true. Coach says so. He wonders if the plays have changed again. He'll have to wait until lunchtime to find out.

Brendon just rolls his eyes and helps Spencer off with his shirt. "Stop thinking about rugby," he says, flicking Spencer in the side. "Boyfriend? Right here in front of you?"

"I _am_ thinking about you," Spencer says, which is almost but not entirely true. One of their scrum front row forwards might not be able to play that night; it's a big deal if they haven't got anyone to replace him who can both hold the scrum up _and_ get the ball out to their scrumhalf.

Brendon shuts him up with a kiss. "You are such a fucking loser," he says, wrapping his arms around Spencer's shoulders and tugging him closer for yet another kiss. Spencer is topless in a janitor's closet and his boyfriend is _touching him_. It's like every good dream he's ever had. "Why do I even date you?"

"Because I am awesome and because I like you with your shirt off," Spencer says, promptly.

Brendon snorts. "Yes," he says, and then he presses himself to Spencer's chest and Spencer is suddenly overwhelmed with what it feels like to be this close to Brendon, skin-to-skin, close enough to feel Brendon breathing, the rise and fall echoing his own. Spencer hugs Brendon even closer, trying not to think about Brendon being all alone or facing those kids over and over and over all this time. He hates thinking about it. "I wasn't ever going to break up with you," he says, softly, burying his face in the curve of Brendon's neck. "I wouldn't," he says. "I'd hate not being with you."

Brendon stills, but doesn't pull away. Spencer is at least grateful for that, because right now it feels like if he got to touch Brendon for the rest of forever it wouldn't be enough.

"I was thinking," Spencer went on, not letting go. He rubs his nose against Brendon's neck, just because he can. "Maybe you could wear my letter jacket. You know, if you wanted to."

"Your letter jacket?" Brendon says. His hand is moving in slow circles in the small of Spencer's back, and Spencer is barely able to concentrate because all he can think about is Brendon's touch against his skin. "You want me to wear your jacket?"

"Yes," Spencer says. "You'd look awesome in it."

"But that's for—" Brendon shifts in Spencer's arms. "Cheerleaders, right?"

"People dating the flyhalf," Spencer corrects, and very carefully does not say, _the person the flyhalf is in love with_ , since saying some things take courage. And build up.

"I'm dating the flyhalf," Brendon says.

"You are," Spencer says, since Brendon is. They've eaten all of the cookies from the spirit box but Spencer's getting hungry again. He wonders if they can make it to the coffee stand in the cafeteria before they go to their next class.

"Well, then I should wear your letter jacket," Brendon says, satisfactorily. He hides his face in Spencer's neck, his mouth against Spencer's skin. Spencer can't help but shiver, and he doesn't know whether it's because Brendon's touching him or because he can't get the image of Brendon in his letter jacket out of his head. Just his letter jacket and no shirt. Ryan was right, Spencer really _does_ have some weird-ass fantasies.

"Excellent," Spencer says, trying not to sound distracted. He splays his fingers across Brendon's skin and tries not to think about the time. "I'll give it to you later and then you can wear it to the game. You're still coming to the game, right?"

"Yeah," Brendon says, rolling his eyes and making a face. "You think I'd miss my boyfriend, the awesome flyhalf?"

"Just checking," Spencer says, since on game days he has to call his parents twice to make sure they haven't forgotten he has a game, and text Ryan three times just to make sure he hasn't made other plans. Keeping on top of everyone else's schedule is a _skill_.

"I wouldn't miss it," Brendon says, softly, and Spencer slides his hands down Brendon's back.

"Good," Spencer says, equally quietly. "My parents are saving you a seat."

~*~

"We should get to class," Brendon says after a while.

"Stay here," Spencer complains, hooking his fingers into Brendon's belt loop. "Stay here and make out with me."

Brendon rolls his eyes, and throws Spencer's shirt at him. "Put this on," he says. "Stop tempting me with the whole no-shirt thing. I've created a monster."

"A naked monster," Spencer grumbles, tugging on his shirt.

" _Half_ -naked," Brendon corrects, pulling his shirt over his head. His hair's a mess and Spencer has to lean over and run his fingers through it to tidy it up. He remembers seeing that freshman yesterday screwing with Brendon's hair, and he does well to control his flinch at the memory. He is going to fix this, somehow. He just doesn't know how yet.

~*~

"So, you have _no idea_ what my parents suggested last night," Spencer says, in the two minutes they have before they have to get to class. He's waiting in line at the coffee stand for a juice for him and a cupcake for Brendon, and Brendon's pressed to his side, apologizing for reading ahead in Harry Potter the night before. Spencer read two chapters before he went to sleep so it doesn't matter, but that's not the point. He's trying to tell a funny story, and sneak his hand under Brendon's shirt without anyone noticing. They're not supposed to buy coffee in between classes, but even the teachers try and grab a cup so it's not like anyone pays attention to the rules.

"I'll read them again with you," Brendon's saying. "It doesn't matter, we can read them again together and I'll pretend I don't know what's coming up."

"Yes," Spencer says, without admitting he's read ahead too, "sounds like a plan. My _mom and dad_ , Brendon. I can't even believe they said it, but they said we should start a _Gay-Straight Alliance_ , can you believe it?"

Brendon's mouth drops open. Spencer is about to say, _can you believe they suggested something so stupid?_ when Brendon says, "Oh my god, Spencer, that is an _amazing_ idea."

Spencer blinks. It is not. It's the worst idea anyone's ever had, but Brendon's eyes have lit up. Spencer is such a sucker for that.

"Uh," he manages. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Brendon says, excitedly. "That is such a cool idea. Do you think we can have it set up by the end of the year? Before graduation? Or should we wait until next year?"

"You, uh, you want to do it? Start one up?" Spencer asks, carefully. Alarm bells are ringing in his head. He only has time for one extra-curricular, rugby, and everything else eats into his Brendon time. He's not giving that up for the sake of some stupid club.

"Yeah," Brendon says, nodding enthusiastically. They get to the front of the line and Spencer half-heartedly points at the cupcake he wants to get for Brendon, and some freshly squeezed orange juice for himself. "It'd be super-popular if you told everyone about it," he says. "Like with my show. Nobody was going to come before you gave all those fliers out, which was stupid since why _wouldn't_ anyone want to come to the school show? Are they crazy?"

 _You're crazy_ , Spencer thinks, but not very loudly. He hands over the money and presents Brendon with his cupcake. "I guess," he says, and plasters on a smile when Brendon looks up at him.

"This is the best idea ever," Brendon says, excitedly. "And it will look great on our transcripts, too."

"I guess," Spencer says, doubtfully. He really, really doesn't want to start up a Gay-Straight Alliance. He wants to take Brendon's shirt off and kiss his chest, which isn't weird at all. His sexy thoughts are totally normal.

"We'd need an advisor," Brendon says, peeling back the paper around his cupcake and taking an enthusiastic bite. "Do you think Ms. Elliot would say yes?"

"Ms. Elliot hates me," Spencer says, trying to concentrate on anything that isn't Brendon's mouth. It isn't an obsession, it is perfectly normal, no matter what Ryan says.

"She appreciates you," Brendon says. "Should I ask her?"

"Yeah," Spencer says, trying to temper his frustration at the stupid club that's going to eat into his Brendon time. He's embarrassed, too; he's always hated extra-curriculars. The only thing he's ever gotten excited about is rugby. There had been a period in Junior High when he'd played drums and he'd kind of loved that, but band had been kind of dull and the teacher was always yelling at him for making up his own shit and not reading the music. The music was really crappy, though, and _easy,_ and tended to involve him thumping the bass drum once every page. It was not his fault that he got _bored_. He hadn't kept it up when he'd come here; he'd tried out for the rugby team just on a whim because he was tired of hanging out in the arts magazine office, and he hadn't looked back. Sometimes he missed the drums though, because beating the shit out of his kit had been pretty awesome, even if his mom and dad had hated it, and made him practice out in the garage. "I guess."

"Awesome," Brendon says. "We needed five students when I set up the Musicals club, so that means you, me, Ryan, Jon, and someone else."

Spencer manages not to say, _do you have any friends that want to join?_ Because he figures that in the hallway on the way to class is not the place to discuss Brendon being bullied and nobody liking him. He also manages not to say, _You set up a Musicals Club_? because he's pretty sure that he's never even _heard_ of that. "I'll get someone," he says, quickly, before realizing what he's just offered to do. He hates his parents.

Brendon beams, and squeezes Spencer's hand. "I have to go," he says. "But I'll get Ms. Elliot to agree at lunch and then come find you in the cafeteria, right?"

"Training then strategy meeting," Spencer says, and Brendon's face falls, just for a moment. "Ryan and Jon will be there, though, and Ryan says he's going to save you a seat."

"Great," Brendon says, brightly, and Spencer wonders how much other stuff he's missed.

"Great," Spencer echoes, and when Brendon darts in for a kiss, Spencer chases it with another before Brendon grins and takes off for class.

Spencer's left with the taste of cupcake on his tongue, and the problem of having to find a fifth member for the stupid Gay-Straight Alliance.

~*~

 _Arts mag is new official magazine of gay straight alliance_ Spencer texts, at the beginning of his class.

He just has time to read Ryan's reply before he has to dump his phone in his backpack.

 _lol n._

Spencer rolls his eyes, because that is totally a _yes,_ Ryan just doesn't know it yet, and he tries to concentrate on what the teacher's writing on the board.

~*~

Spencer spends the first half of his lunch period running the length of the rugby pitch, first one way and then the other. He runs until he's ready to drop, until the rest of the team is panting alongside him, until the coach, standing by the dugout with a stopwatch in his hand, finally blows his whistle and waves them over.

"We need to increase your general fitness," he says, as Spencer jogs over with the others and reaches for a towel and a water bottle. The assistant coach has a giant box of bottles and is handing them out to the whole team.

"I am awesomely fit," Spencer complains, downing half the bottle in one gulp. Zack makes a non-committal noise from next to him. Spencer elbows him in the side. He _is_ , shut up. He definitely does not listen to that little voice inside of him that tells him he hasn't been devoting enough time to training since Brendon turned up in his life. It's just that if there is a choice between running super boring laps and making out with Brendon, Brendon is going to win _every time_.

Coach rolls his eyes. "You are moderately fit," he says, pointing at Spencer. Spencer grimaces. "And we're talking team fitness, not _your_ fitness. I'm going to schedule in some strength training and regular runs from here on in. But you should all consider more aerobic exercise in your regular routines."

Spencer groans, along with the rest of the team, but he slings the towel over the back of his neck and follows Coach back inside for their strategy meeting.

~*~

Spencer doesn't get a chance to catch up with Jon and Ryan and Brendon before the pep rally. The strategy meeting runs over so he only has time to sneak Ryan a text saying, _hv signed u + jon up as first members of gay straight alliance. no choice. tell jon his band are official support band._

Ryan texts him back, _we both hate u._

Spencer beams, but then types out a quick text before the rally starts, _ur still coming 2 game nite right?_

 _y,_ Ryan texts. Spencer lets out a breath, squares his shoulders, and prepares to be pepped.

~*~

His mom and dad are waiting in the parking lot after school.

"Spencer," his mom calls, as Spencer lines up with Zack to meet the opposing team's bus, which, like always, is late. Spencer hates people being late. Coach is going over their game plan, leaning over the hood of someone's car. "Spence!"

Spencer ignores them, and studiously concentrates on his phone. If he ignores them they might go away, which would really be better for all concerned.

"Dude," Zack says, with a grin that is positively evil, "isn't that your mom?"

"No," Spencer says, without looking up. "It's not. I have crazy fans. I'm the flyhalf. Weird people yell at me all the time."

"Totally your mom, dude," Zack says. "Is she wearing a t-shirt with your face on it?"

"Oh my god," Spencer says, almost dropping his phone. "Oh god, I hate her."

"Hi, Mrs. Smith," Zack calls. "Nice t-shirt."

"Thank you, Zachary," Spencer's mom says. Her t-shirt is pale blue with Spencer's face in the middle of it. Spencer can't be sure but he thinks she might have drawn a crown on it in black sharpie. This is like the worst dream he's ever had. "We're thinking of having flags made next time."

"I hate you," Spencer says, glaring. "This is damaging my emotional well-being, Mom. Hi, Dad."

"Hi," Spencer's dad says. He's holding a sign that says, _Go, Spencer, Go._ He grins, and flips it over. It says, _TOUCHDOWN_ all in caps. There might be glitter.

"It is a _**try**_ ," Spencer says, for the fifteen hundredth time, flushing such a bright red he thinks he might actually _explode_ with embarrassment. "We score _tries_. Touchdowns are that other stupid sport. Oh my god, I hate you both so much. You're so embarrassing. I'm never talking to either of you again."

"Gotcha," Spencer's dad says, with a grin. He lets go of the sign and throws Spencer a thumbs up. "You're so easy to play, kid."

"It's like we just wind him up and watch him go," Spencer's mom says, looking far too happy about wearing a weird-ass t-shirt with Spencer's face on it. Even if it is a _joke_. "I thought you wanted us to recognize that you were the king. Isn't that what you're always saying? And now we do."

" _Not like this_ ," Spencer hisses. "Oh my god, go and change before someone sees you."

"Too late," his mom says, with a bright smile. "Hello, Coach."

"Ginger," Coach says, with a grin. He leans over and shakes her by the hand and then leans over to do the same to Spencer's dad. "Nice shirts."

"Spencer bugged us and bugged us to wear them," Spencer's mom says.

" _Mom,_ " Spencer complains. "That is _a lie_. Coach, that is a lie. Mom, didn't you always say it was wrong to lie?"

"He's always telling us to be more supportive," she says, rolling her eyes. She reaches into her bag and pulls out two royal blue rugby jerseys, each with Spencer's number _10_ on the back in large letters. "Would you prefer it if we wore these, Spence?"

"Yes," Spencer says, grouchily. "Put them on before someone sees. Before Ryan sees."

"Oh," his mom says, pulling the jersey on over her head and passing the other one to Spencer's dad. "We had a shirt made for him too. And for Brendon."

Coach makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort, but when Spencer shoots him a doubtful look, Coach is busy schooling his face into his familiar frown.

"Hmmm," Spencer says, thinking about his letter jacket, and how Brendon had worn it for the pep rally earlier. The principal had called all of their names and the team had all jogged into the gym, one by one. Spencer had almost tripped over his feet scanning the crowd for Brendon in his jacket. Once he'd spotted Ryan and Jon and Brendon, sitting up on the left hand side by giant rugby team wall hanging, he'd blushed bright red at the sight of Brendon on his feet cheering Spencer's name. "Brendon's making his own shirt. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Meeting with the principal," Spencer's dad says, not meeting Spencer's eyes.

Spencer had forgotten _that_. "Oh god," he says. "You didn't."

"We did," Spencer's mom says, airily. "And we will talk to you about _that_ later. Right now we're here to wave pompoms and clap a lot whenever you score a touchdown."

" _Try_ ," Spencer says, through gritted teeth. He tries not to think about what his parents might have said to the principal about him and Brendon. "We score _tries_."

"Of course you do," she says, and offers Coach a commiserative look. "If you threaten to make him sleep in the shed he usually does what you say," she confides, in a loud whisper.

"I'll remember that," Coach says. Then he says, "I've got that information you asked me for. Come find me after the game, if you're not rushing away."

His mom shoots Spencer a wary look, and Spencer's brow furrows. "What information?" he asks. "Are you guys talking about me behind my back?"

"Schools with good rugby programs," his mom says, carefully.

"We figured we'd better be prepared," his dad tells him.

Spencer's eyes widen. "Oh my god, really?"

"Really," his dad says, leaning over and clapping Spencer on the back. "You think we haven't figured out by now that the only way we're going to get you to college is if you can play rugby at the same time?"

"Well," Spencer says, his head spinning. "Yes. That's like, obvious. From space."

"Yes," his dad says. "And sometimes, because we're not stupid, your mom and I can actually pick up on things that are obvious even from space."

"I gave you good clues," Spencer says.

"Yes, Spence, you did." His dad rolls his eyes. "We'll talk about it this weekend, okay? Maybe go up and visit a couple of places this summer."

"Awesome," Spencer says. "Road trip. Can Brendon come too? It's going to be his college too, anyway."

"Huh," his mom says, exchanging one of those boring parental looks with his dad. "Does Brendon's mom and dad know that?"

Spencer's not exactly sure that _Brendon_ knows that, but whatever. "They will be powerless to keep us apart," Spencer says, airily. "Now go put your other shirts on before someone sees you. You guys are so embarrassing."

"Sure thing, kiddo," his mom says. "And try not to get injured this time. I have plans for my Friday evening that don't involve the E.R."

"That wasn't my fault," Spencer says, quickly.

His dad ruffles Spencer's hair. "Score some tries, kid."

"Make sure you convert them all, too," his mom adds. "If I have to hear you complain about your kicking statistics one more time I'll make you sleep—"

"—in the shed, I know," Spencer says, in a bored voice. "Oh good, the other bus is here and you have to go. Go have fun now." His mom rolls his eyes, but Spencer suddenly remembers what he wanted to make sure they knew before the game, and he grabs her sleeve. "Make sure Brendon sits with you, okay? And if anyone looks like they're going to punch him, tell them they'll have _me_ to answer to."

"Spencer," his dad says. "We'll keep an eye out, okay? Everything's going to be just fine."

"Well," Spencer says, folding his arms. "Make sure that it is."

"We'll see you after the game," his mom says. "Good luck, boys. Nice hair, Zachary."

"It's _Zack_ ," Zack calls after them, running a hand over his close shaven head. He grins when Spencer's mom makes a face at him and waves, already heading across the parking lot to where the other parents are gathering, a sea of royal blue sweaters and shirts and flags and baseball caps. It's pretty amazing, Spencer can't lie. All these people here to see him play. And the rest of the team, but mostly him.

Zack elbows him. "You okay?" he asks.

"Sure," Spencer lies, since he can feel the familiar beginnings of nerves curling in his belly, the fear he never tells anyone about, the anxiety that's making it a little harder to breathe than it was a moment ago. He concentrates on deep breaths, like his mom always says. That makes it a little easier, but he knows that between now and the beginning of the game he's going to have to concentrate on beating his nerves rather than everything else.

"Is something going on with Brendon?" Zack asks, under his breath, as the bus carrying their opposing team slowly makes its way across the parking lot to where they're standing. It's green and gold, and is followed by a stream of similarly decked out cars and minivans.

"No," Spencer says, quickly. "Everything's fine. Why, do you know something?"

"Huh," Zack says, and Spencer blushes a little under his gaze. Zack's watching him kind of carefully, and Spencer hates it when that happens.

"D'you want to join the Gay-Straight Alliance?" Spencer asks, before he can talk himself out of it. The bus is pulling up so they have about fifteen seconds for Zack to answer him.

"I'm not gay, little dude," Zack says.

"And I'm not straight," Spencer says, witheringly. "I think that's kind of the point."

"Do we even _have_ a Gay-Straight Alliance?" Zack asks.

"We do if you join," Spencer says. "We need five people."

"Huh," Zack says, again. "Okay."

"Great," Spencer says, and then he squares his shoulders and tries to ignore the nerves fluttering in his belly as the bus door opens and the team start to file off, starting with their Coach. Spencer holds out his hand ready to shake hands, and lets out a long breath.

The GSA is ready to go.

~*~

Rugby is _great_. Somewhere in the last few weeks of being obsessed with his boyfriend, Spencer has kind of lost sight of rugby somewhere along the way, and it's only when he runs out on to the field and sees the familiar, H-shaped posts at either end of the pitch that his nerves start to abate. He feels at home here, at one with the length of the field, with the people on it, with the Gilbert ball that the referee hands to him to make the first kick with.

He knows that Coach is right about ten minutes into the game - he really isn't as fit as he should be, not like he was. He's fine, and so is the team, but he can feel the difference between when he's playing a game when he's at the peak of his physical fitness and when he's having to reach for it. He resolves to start running in the mornings again, and spending less time hanging out in the arts magazine office with Ryan. Maybe Brendon can come running with him, and they can do it together? That would be _awesome_. Ryan always said no when Spencer suggested they be jogging buddies, and then laughed like Spencer had suggested something hilarious.

The game is mostly being played by the forwards at the moment, so Spencer - like the other backs - takes a moment to grab a breath as the referee calls for a scrum and the Zack beckons the other seven forwards into a huddle for a brief word before they get ready to bind. Scrums are pretty great to watch. The eight forwards arrange themselves in to three rows, three - four - one, and then they crouch down and bind together by putting their heads in between the players in front of them, or holding on to their shoulders or shirts. Then they're ready to lock heads with the opposing team who are doing just the same thing. The referee calls the familiar instruction to scrum, "Crouch - touch - pause - _engage_ ," and the two opposing halves of the scrum bind together as the scrum half puts the ball in at the side. Zack is a second row forward, one of two locks, and Spencer can see Zack's head in between two of the front row forwards as Spencer stands and waits, diagonally behind the scrum, waiting for the ball to come out of the scrum and back into play again.

Scrums are about competing for the ball by the front row forwards trying to hook the ball backwards with their feet, out of the way of the other team's forwards, while the rest of the pack try and push the opposing team backwards by sheer weight and pressure. It's loud and ugly and completely out of Spencer's hands. All he can do is stand and wait for the ball to come out of the back of the scrum, and for either the number eight or the scrum half to pass the ball back and for Spencer to hope that it comes his way.

This time they're almost at the twenty yard line, and the put-in is theirs, so theoretically, with a good scrum they could get the ball close enough to the try-line that a try straight out of the scrum would be possible. So far the score is 0-0; getting a score on the board is always good incentive to score more and Spencer itches with the possibilities, with the potential alive in the ball, in his team, in _him_. He's happiest out on the field, and he can't see that ever changing. He never _wants_ that to change.

The scrum tries to drive the ball forward but it's only a second before the scrum collapses, dipping in the middle like one of Spencer's mom's cakes (Spencer's mom is not the baker in their family). The referee blows his whistle to restart the scrum, and Spencer drops his hands to his knees, waiting for the play to start again. The scrum _should_ go in Spencer's team's favor - they're heavier than their opposition, and Spencer's team's scrum is also tighter, and less prone to mistakes, but in the scrum it's weight that's important. That's part of the reason Spencer isn't a forward - he isn't heavy enough. Spencer is fearless - he'll run that ball forwards regardless of whether there's a six-foot hulk of an opposing player in his way or not. Spencer will drop his shoulder and run right into him if that's the only way to drive the ball down the pitch. He'll chase after every player on the field and take them down if they're the ones moving the ball towards the try-line, and he'll do it regardless of their size or weight or whether they're running towards him like a freight train. He's come off the field more times than he can count covered in bruises and cuts and finger marks and stud bruises from someone else's boots. One time he came off with a fucking _bite_ mark _,_ which had made Spencer's mom really mad, since apparently she hadn't known that Spencer's school were arranging games with _vampires_ now. Anyway, the point is, Spencer is fearless on the field, but he's not, and never will be, built like Zack and the other forwards. There's a reason he's one of the backs and not part of the scrum.

The scrum collapses _again_ , and this time the referee calls out Zack and the opposing team captain to have a word. Collapsing the scrum is dangerous, and as a tactic it's stupid, and as an accident it just shows a weakness with your forwards, so the referee takes a minute to talk to them both, probably to explain that the next infraction is going to result in a penalty and maybe a yellow card. Spencer takes the opportunity to scan the crowd to see if he can see his parents and Brendon and Ryan.

He spots them right by the half way line, resplendent in royal blue team shirts and baseball caps. Ryan - clad in the same shirt as Spencer's parents and Brendon - is _texting_. Spencer is going to hold this against him _forever._ He's composing a reprimanding text in his head when he realizes that Brendon is wearing Spencer's letter jacket, looking right at him and waving his sign.

His _sign_.

How could Spencer have forgotten that Brendon was making him a sign? It had slipped right out of his head the moment that the opposing team's bus had rolled into the parking lot, and right now he can't do anything other than just stare at the bright, sparkly purple construction paper sign that Brendon's waving enthusiastically in his direction.

It says, in large, bright capitals:

 _ **Spencer Smith:**_

  


 _ **my favorite back!!!**_

  


 _ **10!**_

Spencer can see, even from here, that Brendon's biting his lip. Spencer wants to kiss him _so_ hard right now, and once this game is over he is going to push Brendon up against the nearest wall and kiss him until there are no kisses left. Until all of the making out in the world is theirs and theirs alone. He holds up his hands to make a heart sign in Brendon's direction, and the crowd whistles. There are some shouts, too, but Spencer doesn't listen to them. He never does.

Brendon's face curves into a wide, bright smile, and Spencer can't help but grin right on back, holding his hands up in a heart until the referee calls the teams together for another try at the scrum. Spencer turns his attention back to the field, something warm and happy curling deep inside of him as he watches the referee call the two teams to engage.

~*~

By half time the score is a level ten-all. One try, one kicked conversion and one drop goal each. The conversion and the drop goal are both Spencer's, but the try is scored by a new center, a kid called Dallon Weekes who is two times taller than Spencer and half as wide. He also runs like a _dream_ , and Spencer finds himself wishing that he could run as fast when he has to chase Dallon up the field in case any of the opposing team decide they want to try and take Dallon down.

Which they don't, apparently, because Dallon swallow-dives over the try-line, right between the posts, leaving Spencer the easiest, cleanest conversion to make in the _world_.

The atmosphere in the locker room at half time is jubilant at worst, the coach having to stand on a table to get their attention.

"There's still another forty minutes to go," he yells. "You want to lose the game now and go home losers?"

That sobers them up a little, and for the few minutes they have before they have to go back outside and watch the half-time show by the cheerleaders and the dance squad, they listen to the strategy changes and Spencer spends some quality time remembering the plays while trying to text Brendon and Ryan under the table. He manages one text to both before he has to concentrate on what Coach is telling him, so he sends, _great sign ur the best_ to Brendon, and _dont think i didnt cu texting ur fired from being my bff RYAN_ to Ryan. He seals them both with a kiss and drops his phone back into his backpack before jogging back out onto the field to watch the dance squad do an incredibly inappropriate routine to Ke$ha's _Your Love Is My Drug_. Watching every member of the squad punch themselves in the arm and drop to their knees every time Ke$ha sings _Your Love Is My Drug_ is possibly more than the principal expects, too, because she runs onto the field as the whole squad mouths along with _I don't care what people say, the rush is worth the price I pay_ and calls the whole thing to a halt.

Spencer prefers _Tik Tok_ anyway, although he's still mostly keeping that a secret from Ryan, who doesn't appreciate the beauty of Ke$ha's lyrics. Spencer has to hide his copy of her album under the mattress because otherwise he'll have to hear Ryan's rant about popular music in the twenty-first century for the millionth time.

When he looks around to the stands, Ryan's writing feverishly in his notebook, and Spencer imagines the dance squad display isn't going to get five stars in the next issue of the arts magazine. Brendon's laughing at something Spencer's dad's saying, and Spencer's suddenly caught up in how much he feels for them all, for his mom and dad, making sure that Brendon's okay and not alone, for his best friend, stupid enough not to think that rugby is the greatest thing on the planet, and for Brendon, his smart, talented, funny, _incredible_ boyfriend. For a moment he's caught up in it all, so wrapped up in how many feelings he has right now that he misses Coach yelling at him to get up and back on the field.

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head, but the warm, ridiculous feeling in his belly isn't dissipating, not even a little bit.

 _Good_ , he thinks, and positions himself on the field, waiting for the second half to kick off.

~*~

Spencer rushes through the quickest shower known to mankind and is already tugging on his jeans and doing his hair before the rest of the team have even finished filing into the showers.

"In a rush?" Coach asks, wearing what Spencer can only describe as a smirk and coming over to where Spencer's standing in front of the mirror.

"People to see, you know," Spencer says, without thinking too much. "Signs to go look at more closely."

"Letter jackets to go and admire," Coach says, and Spencer's head darts up. He hadn't seen Brendon wearing Spencer's jacket during the second half, but Brendon had been doing a lot of jumping up and down and frankly, he sweated a lot. Spencer was glad he'd taken it off.

Spencer studies Coach's face. "Yes," he says, finally, since that's exactly what he's going to go do. "My boyfriend looks pretty awesome in it, I think."

"I'm sure," Coach says. He narrows his eyes. "This isn't going to eat in to our new fitness schedule, right?"

"My boyfriend?" Spencer asks. "No. We're going to go running together. It'll be awesome." It's not like he's asked Brendon properly yet, but it'll be an awesome bonding experience. Shared hobbies are the way to a stable long-term relationship.

Coach blinks. Sometimes Coach looks at him like Spencer's said something funny, which just goes to back up Spencer's idea that Coach has the weirdest sense of humor in the world. Teachers are so weird. They probably can't even laugh at funny shit anymore if they _tried_. Look at Mr. Vasquez. Jackass could happen _right in front of him_ , and that dude wouldn't even crack a smile.

"Do you laugh at knock-knock jokes?" Spencer asks. "Because they're kind of stupid."

"Hmmm," Coach says. "Tell your parents I have those pamphlets they asked for."

"Sure thing," Spencer says, happily, and he grabs his backpack out of his locker and heads out of the door into the throng of students and parents in the hallway.

His parents are waiting for him down the hall, and by the time he gets to them, his hand hurts from being high-fived so much, and his shoulder aches from where he's been clapped on the back too many times on top of his bruises.

"Hi," he says, brightly. "Sorry I took so long, you can tell me how awesome I am now."

Both of his parents roll their eyes. "We're wearing our Spencer shirts under this rugby jerseys," his mom says. "Do you want us to show them off?"

"No way," Spencer says, making a face. "Why would you even say that?" He turns to find Brendon, who is leaning up against the lockers in Spencer's letter jacket. It's too big for him but Spencer's breath catches even so, because Brendon is _his_ , and he's _amazing_ , and he's picked Spencer. "Cool jacket," he says, as nonchalantly as he can manage, which isn't much.

"Someone awesome gave it to me," Brendon says, a little breathlessly, the jacket falling open to reveal the slogan on his homemade t-shirt. It says, _My boyfriend's the flyhalf_.

Spencer's heart skips a beat. "Obviously," he says, and he curls his fingers into Brendon's and makes a face at his parents, who are smiling indulgently, like Brendon and Spencer are _cute_ or something. "We are not cute," he says, trying to ignore the way his heart is racing.

"No," his mom says. "You, Spencer Smith, are annoying." She leans in and kisses his forehead. "And we're very proud of you."

"Great game, son," his dad says.

"Thanks, Dad," Spencer says, and it is actually difficult to concentrate on anything because Brendon's hand is so hot in his, hot and a little sticky and Spencer wants, more than anything, to make out with Brendon _right now_. "Huh, where's Ryan?"

"He had to go," his dad says. "He said he texted you."

"Hmmm," Spencer says, fumbling with his backpack to find his phone without letting go of Brendon's hand. Some of the other parents near to them are whispering, but Spencer's dad has his arms folded and is staring them down. Brendon looks uncomfortable, but Spencer knows that the two of them are more awesome than everyone else, so whatever they're whispering about is stupid anyway. "We have our five members to start the Gay-Straight Alliance now," he says, loudly. "Zack says he'll join. And the rest of the rugby team is going to, too." That part is kind of a lie, but Spencer believes wholeheartedly in the power of the flyhalf, and whatever, he'll just bug them all until they say yes. Spencer is pretty great at bugging people.

"That's great, guys," Spencer's mom says. "And we've talked to the principal about maybe setting up a PFLAG group next year, too."

Spencer makes a strangled, yelping kind of noise, but Brendon is actually _beaming_ , so he tries not to make too big of an outburst at just how annoying his parents actually are.

"Awesome," Brendon says, and Spencer tries not to make too much of a face.

"Yeah, great," he says, tugging out his phone to check his messages. "Oh my _god_ ," he says. "Jon's asked Ryan to prom and Ryan's hiding in case Jon finds him. He's such a loser. Come on, Brendon, we have to go find him and see if we can get them to wear matching tuxedoes. This is going to be awesome."

"Don't be home too late," Spencer's mom calls after them. "And don't drink too much, because you're still doing yard work tomorrow even if you're hungover."

"Whatever," Spencer says, exasperatedly, tugging Brendon down the hallway after him, high-fiving whoever offers him their hand and emerging, breathless, into the evening air. It's still hot, even now, and Spencer texts Ryan one-handedly as he pulls Brendon down the pathway and around the corner, back where the doors let out of the cafeteria and there are tons of those giant trash cans full of old tater tots and empty sandwich wrappers.

"This is romantic," Brendon says, as Spencer tugs him around the back of them and pulls him in for a kiss. "You're the best boyfriend. You take me to the places with all the best smells."

"Shut up," Spencer says, sliding his hand into Brendon's hair and stepping in closer. "There were people standing in front of the janitor's closet. I checked."

"Remind me again why I date you?" Brendon asks, but he's not pulling away. He's wrapping his arms around Spencer's neck instead, and he's so close that Spencer can feel his breath on his cheek.

"Because I'm the flyhalf and I gave you my letter jacket?"

"Those are just the added benefits," Brendon says, softly, and then he leans in and presses his mouth to Spencer's, soft and tentative and kind of sweet. Spencer kisses him back, which is what he's wanted to do for hours now, for the whole of the rugby game and longer.

"Hey," Spencer says, after a minute of making out with Brendon and holding him so close that he can almost feel the rise and fall of Brendon's chest. He runs his fingers over the homemade slogan on Brendon's t-shirt, the 'boyfriend'part of _my boyfriend's the flyhalf._ "Where's my sign? I saw it from the field. I wanted to see it from close up."

"Oh," Brendon says, and his cheeks flush pink. "Your mom and dad rolled it up and put it in their car so it wouldn't get damaged. I asked them if they would. I didn't know if you'd be going to some party or whatever."

"Not without you," Spencer says, affronted. He's disappointed about the sign, he'd wanted to see it for himself, and not just peering at it from the field. "Here, let me make out with you again. I think it's the letter jacket. It makes people extra hot or something."

"I thought we were going to find Ryan?" Brendon asks, but Spencer notes that he doesn't actually pull away.

"I texted him to find out where he's hiding," Spencer says. "He's such a loser."

Brendon slides his hand into Spencer's. "Doesn't he want to go to prom?"

"Sure he does," Spencer says. "He's just weird and socially maladjusted. It's a thing."

"I love it when you use big words," Brendon says. "Kiss me again."

"I really am very smart," Spencer says, modestly. "You just wait until our SAT scores come through." He and Brendon had tutored each other in the run up to their SATs; they'd worked out a careful and very specific scoring system where the amount of time making out was linked to how many questions they could get right as quickly as possible. Spencer was thinking about presenting it to the school as a totally valid way of making students work harder.

"Not smart enough to be kissing me right now," Brendon complains, but Spencer's phone is buzzing in his pocket, and he can't not answer when it's Ryan on the other end.

Spencer sneaks his fingertips into Brendon's back pocket. His jeans are pretty tight so he can't get his whole hand in, but he manages a little grope as he says _hey_ to Ryan. Brendon leans into his side and wraps his arms around Spencer's back.

"Where are you, you giant loser?" Spencer asks.

"Your sympathy is overwhelming," Ryan says, dryly.

"Your weirdness is overwhelming," Spencer retorts. "Honestly, where are you? I totally had plans tonight that involved taking Brendon's shirt off." He sneaks his hand under his letter jacket and pushes up the hem to Brendon's shirt, fingertips stroking at his hip. Brendon wriggles a little, and presses closer.

"Jon wants me to be his date to prom," Ryan says.

"I know," Spencer commiserates. "Total bummer. I'd hate it if my boyfriend wanted to take me to senior prom."

"I don't have a tux," Ryan says, after a long moment. "I don't have anything at all to wear. I'm going to show him up."

"Oh my _god_ ," Spencer says, because Spencer's known Ryan a long time, and Spencer can tell when Ryan's lying to him, and Ryan is _clearly_ lying about why he doesn't want to go to prom. It doesn't matter, because Spencer will get the truth out of Ryan the next time he sees him. "You are such a loser. You think that Jon's going to show up in anything other than flip-flops? He'll be the one showing _you_ up."

"You think?" Ryan asks, and Spencer's not sure but he thinks Ryan really _does_ sound a little brighter, even though Spencer knows that Ryan's being weird about something other than his lack of a tuxedo.

"Sure," Spencer says, although he's not too sure about Ryan's collection of scarves. "Have you even said yes, yet? Where are you? Did you actually see any of my game or were you too busy being a dumbass?"

"I saw you doing some running and shit," Ryan says, and Spencer tries not to make the strangled, squeaking sort of noise that he tends to make whenever is Ryan being stupid about rugby, Brendon is pressed flush against Spencer's side, and has his mouth pressed to the underside of Spencer's jaw. "You are _fired_ ," Spencer manages, because Brendon's hand is sneaking under Spencer's shirt, and he really, really doesn't want that to stop. He shifts so that he can rub his cheek against Brendon's, because he's _so close_ , but Spencer always wants to be closer.

"You think I should go with him?" Ryan asks.

"You're totally fucking dumb," Spencer says, and Brendon nudges him a little, shifting so that he can look right at Spencer, his eyes dark. "Yes. Call him and tell him how much of an idiot you are. And remind him his band are the new official band of the Gay-Straight Alliance."

"Come over tomorrow and help me figure out what I'm going to wear," Ryan says, quickly, which Spencer takes to mean, _come over and I'll tell you what's really going on_.

"I've got to do stupid yard work for my mom," Spencer manages, because he is _this close_ to kissing Brendon, Ryan or no Ryan.

"I'll come over for breakfast," Ryan says, satisfactorily. "I always like watching you work."

"Dick," Spencer says. "Now go the fuck away because I need to make out with Brendon."

Ryan snorts. "You're so fired right back," he says. He waits a moment. "You really think I should go to prom?"

"Yes," Spencer says, rolling his eyes.

"Okay," Ryan says. "Later."

Spencer can't get his phone in his pocket quickly enough. He cups Brendon's face in his hands and leans in for a kiss, pressing his mouth to Brendon's so that he can taste the cotton candy he'd seen Brendon eating halfway through the second half. He sneaks a taste with his tongue.

Brendon wraps his arms around Spencer and pulls away, burying his face in Spencer's neck. "It's a big deal," he says, softly. "Ryan going with Jon. They'll probably be the only gay kids there."

"Ryan's bisexual," Spencer corrects. He wants to be kissing Brendon again, but what Brendon's saying is kind of news to him. He'd never even thought that maybe _that_ was why Ryan was being weird about going to prom. His boyfriend is a whole lot smarter than he is, he thinks, and then he remembers what Ryan had told him about him maybe being bullied if Spencer hadn't been around, and his stomach drops. "You think he might get hurt?" he asks.

Brendon shrugs. "Probably not," he says. "Jon's friends are pretty cool, and there are kind of a lot of them. Just - it's going to be weird, right? Everyone's going to be looking."

"It's awesome when everybody looks," Spencer says, because it _is_. Usually.

Brendon makes a noise that sounds a lot like a snort. "It isn't," he says. "It fucking sucks."

Spencer is reminded, fiercely, of what it feels like to want to punch everybody who's ever been a dick to his boyfriend. "Nobody is going to make Ryan's prom suck," Spencer says. "We should go along as his bodyguards."

"Yeah," Brendon says, rolling his eyes. "That's a great plan. This is why we put you in charge of all our cunning and fiendish plans, because of how good you are at making them."

"My plans are totally awesome," Spencer says, frowning. "Remember the janitor's closet? That was awesome."

"It _was_ awesome," Brendon agrees. "It was also a janitor's closet, and I was the one who had to take your shirt off, you remember that part? Face it, Spence, your plans suck."

"You suck," Spencer says, sulkily, folding his arms.

Brendon snorts, covering his mouth with his hand as he starts to laugh.

Spencer blushes a fierce red. "Uh," he says, because now the only thing he can think about is blow jobs, and blow jobs and his boyfriend, and blow jobs _given_ by his boyfriend and he is torn between wanting to think about nothing but that forever and ever and pushing Brendon up against the wall and kissing him until he doesn't feel so awkward any more. He goes with pushing Brendon up against the wall, and Brendon goes willingly, tangling his fingers into Spencer's hair and tugging him down to meet Brendon's mouth in a hot, desperate kiss. There's a weird kind of disconnect in his brain between all of the things that he thinks about doing with Brendon, and actually _doing_ them. _One day_ , he promises himself. _One day_.

"I've wanted to do that all day," Brendon says, fiercely. His cheeks are pink, too, flushed and hot. "You were totally awesome on the field."

"I know," Spencer says, modestly. Brendon has one knee trapped in between Spencer's legs, and Spencer is all too aware that if he rocks up, just a little bit, he'll be pressed up flush against Brendon. Sometimes it's weird, how close he wants to be to Brendon all the time. If he could crawl inside of him then he _would_ , which is totally a mix of being the weirdest shit in the whole fucking world, and _not close enough_. He settles for kissing Brendon again, touching his hand to Brendon's cheek and pressing his mouth to Brendon's, chasing the taste of the cotton candy with his tongue. Brendon laughs up into the kiss and Spencer is reminded of the image of Brendon giving him a blow job, and he groans without meaning to, tilting up Brendon's chin and kissing him again, harder this time. He loves making out with Brendon more than anything else in the whole world, he thinks, and with his other hand he sneaks a hand under Brendon's shirt so he can run his fingers across Brendon's stomach and think, _mine._

They are interrupted, as always, by Mr. Vasquez.

"Much as I love to see the student body enjoying themselves," Mr. Vasquez says, from next to the giant trash cans, "don't either of you have homes to go to?"

"Yes," Spencer says, witheringly, pulling away from kissing Brendon and making a face. He slides his hand into Brendon's and doesn't bother tidying Brendon's shirt so that his stomach isn't on display. He was busy, and he'd like to get back to it without interruption, thank you very much. Mr. Vasquez must just hang around waiting to drive Spencer crazy. Mr. Vasquez needs to get more of a life. Maybe he and Brendon could band together like in that awesome movie _Clueless_ and fix him up with another lonely member of the faculty and then Mr. Vasquez could stop looming over them whenever they wanted to exercise their right to make out whenever they wanted on school property. Spencer doesn't need any more extra-curriculars, though, so he dismisses that idea and concentrates on smiling sunnily at Mr. Vasquez, just to see if it makes him mad.

It does.

Brendon awkwardly straightens his shirt and leans into Spencer's side, squeezing his hand. He's biting his lip and trying not to laugh, and Spencer just can't resist Brendon's grin. He starts to laugh too.

"Yes, well," Mr. Vasquez says. "Much as it entertains me to spend all of my time chasing you around campus, Spencer Smith, it's time for you both to go home."

"This is persecution," Spencer says, even though it isn't. Brendon shushes him and pokes him in the side, which makes Spencer wriggle. Spencer has very sensitive skin, okay, it is not his fault that he is ticklish.

"This is me wanting to go home," Mr. Vasquez says. "I know you won't believe it, but I do have a life, you know, and shooing students off school property on a Friday night isn't exactly my idea of a good time."

Spencer doesn't believe that for a second. Teachers have no lives outside of the classroom, everyone knows that. That's why they become _teachers_.

Mr. Vasquez rolls his eyes. "Home, boys. Time to go home."

"Okay, okay, we're going," Brendon says, tugging on Spencer's hand. "Bye!"

"He does _not_ have a life outside of school," Spencer says, without bothering to whisper as Brendon drags him around the corner.

"I can still hear you," Mr. Vasquez says, poking his head around the corner. "Stop talking and _go home_."

"It's starting to be like _The Faculty_ here," Spencer complains. "People are being weird. I'm going to have to heroically stab people in the eye with a ballpoint pen." Brendon looks ever so slightly bewildered, and Spencer blinks, realizing that Brendon doesn't have a clue what Spencer's talking about, which is ridiculous. Everyone's seen _The Faculty_. "You haven't seen _The Faculty_?" he asks. When Brendon shakes his head, Spencer's eyes widen. "Oh my _god_ ," he says. "We are so skipping the rugby party. We'll see Jon's friends' band some other time instead. We're going back to my place to watch it on DVD."

Brendon blinks. "Uh," he says. "Okay?"

"Awesome," Spencer says, tugging on Brendon's hand. "Let's go now."

"We're skipping the party?"

"Yes," Spencer says, and not just because he'd rather make out with Brendon at home anyway. _The Faculty_ is an _awesome_ movie, and all the cast are super-hot, and Spencer wants to talk about his Josh Hartnett crush with someone who isn't going to laugh at him, like he suspects Ryan will if Ryan ever finds out. "Parties suck. _The Faculty_ does not."

"You _love_ parties," Brendon says, and he has to run to catch up with Spencer, who can put on pretty great bursts of speed if he has to. He figures if they drop by the store on the way home they can pick up stuff for milkshakes and then go home and have a picnic on Spencer's couch. There can be making out, too, which Spencer secretly enjoys a whole lot. He is so totally awesome at making plans. He is the _plan-maker_.

"You haven't seen _The Faculty_ ," Spencer says patiently, because if he uses really small words then Brendon won't realize just how crappy his life has been up until this point because he hasn't had _The Faculty_ in it. Brendon still looks baffled, and Spencer heaves a sigh. "There can be making out?" he says, finally. "And milkshakes?"

"Oh," Brendon says. "Awesome?"

"Awesome," Spencer agrees, grabbing Brendon's hand and heading for the bike racks. "Now, do you want to ride on the back of my bike or sit on the handlebars?"

"Like E.T.?" Brendon asks, brightening.

"Uh," Spencer says. He does not want to think sexy thoughts about E.T., which is the way his brain is currently going, but it has been a very long day. "I don't want to kiss E.T.," he says, finally.

"Me neither," Brendon agrees. "But can I phone home when I get back to your place? My phone is out of charge again."

Spencer snorts a laugh and pulls Brendon close, tangling his fingers in Brendon's hair and kissing him again, just because he can, and because Brendon will kiss back, and because it's the best thing ever.

" _Spencer Smith,"_ Mr. Vasquez yells, from the other side of the parking lot. "Stop that this instant, and _go home_."

"That guy," Spencer says, disagreeably letting go of Brendon's hand so he can fumble with his bike lock, "needs to get out more."

Brendon laughs, and Spencer circles his arm around Brendon's waist, just for a moment, just because he can. "Come back to my place and let me feed you gummy worms," he says in his most seductive voice, and Brendon leans back against Spencer's chest and tilts his chin up for a kiss.

"Why, Spencer Smith," he says, fluttering his eyelashes and putting on his best _Oklahoma!_ accent. "You say the sweetest things. A fellow could just _swoon_."

"Well," Spencer says, in satisfaction, patting his chest. "Obviously."

~*~

"You two are home early," Spencer's mom says, sitting up from where she's laying on the couch, sprawled out so that there's no room for anyone else to sit down. There's a half open book on her lap. She's taken off the rugby jersey and replaced it with a cardigan, but she's kept the t-shirt with Spencer's face on underneath. His mom is totally creepy. Down the hallway he can hear Jackie and Crystal playing video games and laughing at the TV. They're probably watching _Sixteen and Pregnant_ , even though they're not supposed to because their mom and dad won't let them. Spencer doesn't know why, it isn't like any boy is ever going to want to go out with either of them because they're so annoying, so it isn't like they're going to end up pregnant themselves. Their mom has to know they just watch it at their friends' houses anyway. "What happened to the rugby party?"

"Brendon hasn't seen _The Faculty_ ," Spencer says, in explanation, dumping the bag of milkshake stuff and gummy worms they'd picked up at the store down on the end of the couch. He leans against the doorframe rather than making his mom move over so that he can sit down, because if he stays standing up he gets to watch as Brendon fumbles with the laces on his Converse. Spencer sneaks a look at Brendon's ass as he bends over. He likes to look when he knows that Brendon can't see him staring. He trains his attention back on his parents as Brendon finishes with his shoes and stands back up again, sticking his head around the living room door and coming in from the hallway.

"Hi, Mrs. Smith. Mr. Smith." He says, waving at Spencer's parents, looking a little awkward in the doorway. Spencer's dad looks up from his computer, where he's about to plug himself in to another boring evening of podcasts, and smiles benignly.

"So no partying tonight then, boys?"

"Brendon hasn't seen _The Faculty_ ," Spencer repeats, in case both of his parents have gone deaf since they last spoke to him. He speaks extra slowly, just in case. These things happen when you get older; Spencer is totally caring.

"Right," Spencer's mom says. "Of course."

"Is that the movie with the—" Spencer's dad makes a movement with his hand, which looks precisely nothing like anything Spencer can remember seeing in _The Faculty_ , ever. It looks like his dad is waving his hand up and down in some kind of weird, age-inappropriate hand-flappy way.

Spencer's mom pushes her glasses up her nose. "No," she says, "That's that other movie that Spence used to watch all the time. This is the one with the, you know -" now _she's_ the one making stupid hand gestures, and Spencer is completely baffled. What his mom is doing looks like the Loch Ness Monster.

"What are you guys _doing_?" he asks, in confusion. Brendon just looks bewildered.

"It's the monster," his mom says, making the wiggly monster sign again. "In the swimming pool. That's the right movie, right? Not that other one, you know, the one with that cute boy from that TV movie you used to like."

"You're spoiling it for Brendon," Spencer says, going bright red. He doesn't know why he's embarrassed, because there is nothing wrong with liking _High School Musical_. Or liking _17 Again_ , either, which he's pretty sure is the movie his dad is miming, although Spencer has no idea what the waggling hand was supposed to represent. Basketball, maybe. Zac Efron likes to dance with basketballs, and Spencer likes to watch him do just that. It's nothing to be ashamed of, he knows that, but Ryan would laugh and that's enough of a reason to keep it secret forever. He makes vigorous _shut up_ faces at his mom and dad.

"We're not," his mom says, rolling her eyes at him. "Have you kids eaten?"

"No," Spencer says. "We should do that right now. We're going in to the kitchen now, bye."

Spencer grabs Brendon's hand and tugs him down the hallway. "My parents are so embarrassing," he says, not bothering to lower his voice.

"There are pizzas in the freezer," his mom calls.

"Make sure you pick out something green, too," his dad says, loudly. "Otherwise you will turn into a tater tot, and nobody wants that."

"Tater tots are awesome, shut up," Spencer yells, and then he tugs Brendon into the kitchen and closes the door. "Sorry," he says, to Brendon. "They're crazy. It's a good thing I'm so awesome."

Brendon just grins, which Spencer likes, since Brendon smiling is one of the best things in the whole entire world. "Your parents are great," he says.

"Well," Spencer says, modestly. "I guess. Hey, you want to make out?"

"Always," Brendon says, fervently, and Spencer makes the fastest food decisions he's ever made, grabbing two pizzas out of the freezer and a bowl of salad out of the fridge and a bag of chips off the shelf by the stove. He doesn't even bother checking he's set the right temperature on the oven, dumping the pizzas directly down on to the oven shelves before the fan has even started to hum properly.

"You need to set the timer," Brendon reminds him, as Spencer lets the oven door close and starts to drag Brendon across the kitchen so they can go upstairs.

"Timer, Shmimer," he says, already imagining taking Brendon's shirt off and getting to touch him wherever he wants to. It makes Spencer feel warm inside. And kind of shy, too, but Spencer ignores that in favor of sneaking his arm around Brendon's shoulders.

"Burnt pizza, Spence," Brendon says, pulling out of Spencer's grip. "What setting should the oven be on?" He leans over the pizza boxes to read the instructions, and Spencer can't help it, he presses himself to Brendon's back and wraps his arms around Brendon's waist so that Brendon actually _giggles._

"I don't care," Spencer says. "Come upstairs and let me take your shirt off."

"Shush," Brendon says. "I am very busy and important. Stop tickling me."

Spencer doesn't. He likes the way Brendon wriggles in his arms, pressing back against him. Even though Spencer knows he's going to be covered in bruises from the rugby game, he likes having Brendon this close to him, even though every time Brendon moves he bumps into some sore, tired part of Spencer's anatomy that took a battering in the rugby game earlier. Spencer's stomach rumbles; he's so hungry after the game that he could eat a _horse_.

"Food, Spencer Smith. I can't make out with you if I'm dying of malnutrition."

Spencer growls, and leans over so he can press his mouth to the back of Brendon's neck. He tastes warm and a little like sweat, salty against Spencer's tongue. Spencer bites him gently, just enough to make Brendon yelp a little and push back against him even more. He _really_ likes it when Brendon does that.

"You bit me," Brendon says, but he doesn't sound all that broken up about it. In fact, he sounds positively delighted, which makes something warm coil up in Spencer's stomach that he doesn't really know how to put a name to. He settles for tugging Brendon back against him and nosing at the back of his neck.

"You're taking too long," Spencer says. "Hurry up, I want to make out with you."

"You always want to make out," Brendon says, amused. He changes the dial on the oven and fiddles with the timer that looks like a chicken, setting it for sixteen minutes. It clucks rather than ticks. Spencer wants one for his own."We're taking that with us," Brendon says, in satisfaction. "Then our pizzas won't be burnt."

"You think of everything," Spencer says, nuzzling Brendon's neck again. "Now can we go upstairs?"

"Sure," Brendon says, and he grins, pulling out of Spencer's grip and heading for the door. "Race you?"

"That's _cheating_ ," Spencer says, starting after him. "You got a head start."

"It's not cheating," Brendon says, breathlessly, racing up the stairs with Spencer running after him. He slams into Spencer's bedroom and sprawls headlong across Spencer's bed. "It's called _winning_."

"Cheat," Spencer says again, kicking the door shut behind him and dropping down on the bed next to Brendon. "You cheated."

Brendon beams, and tugs off his shirt with one hand. "Come here and kiss me," he says, and Spencer stops thinking about cheating at all, stops thinking about anything other than Brendon sprawled across his bed, shirt off, all that golden skin just _there_ , waiting for Spencer to touch him.

Spencer doesn't know where to start. He growls, and pulls his shirt off. Looking down, he can already he can see the dark spread of bruises across his stomach from where some dickbag on the other team had mown into him like a bullet - a great, heavy bullet - and taken him down, then kneed him in the stomach when he'd fallen on top of him. Spencer loves rugby but he doesn't love this so much, the bruises on top of bruises when the game gets dirty.

He clambers over so that he can kneel up over Brendon. "Hi," he says, biting his lip.

Brendon runs a hand cautiously across Spencer's stomach. "You're all hurt," he says, a little more quietly than Spencer likes to hear from him.

"It's nothing," Spencer says, but his breathing feels a little labored because Brendon is running his fingertips across Spencer's stomach and Spencer is suddenly aware of every tiny touch of Brendon's fingers against his skin. "It's not -" he doesn't know how to say, _it's not like someone's beating me up_. Spencer causes as many bruises as he receives in rugby, and he wouldn't change a moment of it, not one. He loves rugby just as much as he loves breathing, and almost as much as he loves Brendon. "They don't hurt." They do, but whatever. He pokes himself in the stomach just to show Brendon that he's okay. "See?"

"You totally winced," Brendon says, and he touches his finger to the edge of what looks to be the nastiest bruise, where Spencer's skin is mottled and yellow and already darkening. That was a boot to the kidneys when the referee wasn't looking.

"Did not," Spencer argues, and steels himself for Brendon to poke him, like Ryan would have done.

"You should be careful out there," Brendon says, softly, and he doesn't press his finger to Spencer's bruised skin any harder than he already has done, a ghost of a touch.

"I am," Spencer says, which is a lie. Spencer relishes every single contact on the field. He's not going in to a tackle at anything other than a hundred percent.

"Hmmm," Brendon says, and curls his fingers around Spencer's hip. "Just don't get broken, okay? I like you just the way you are. Complete."

"Promise," Spencer says, and if his voice sounds a little hoarse it's because Brendon's eyes are dark and bright, and his hand is on Spencer's hip, and they're half-naked in Spencer's bedroom and this is the first time they've done this, the first time they've been this close with so few clothes on. His heart hammers and he adds, "I'm not going to turn into a zombie any time soon, B. Everything accounted for, arms and fucked-up knees and everything -"

Brendon sits up on his elbows and shakes his head. "Shut up," he says, and Spencer's gaze rakes down Brendon's skin, his bared throat, the hollows of his collarbone, down past his nipples to his belly button and the dark line of hair that leads down past the waistband of his jeans. Spencer leans in and cups Brendon's cheek in his palm; with his thumb he touches at Brendon's bottom lip. Spencer's heart thumps loudly.

"Hi," Spencer says, finally.

"Hi right back," Brendon says. "Are you going to kiss me any time soon?"

"In a minute," Spencer says. "I'm busy, hang on."

"Busy doing _what?_ " Brendon sulks.

"Looking at you," Spencer says, "shut up." He runs his other hand down Brendon's chest, sliding his palm across Brendon's nipple so that Brendon's breath catches. Spencer doesn't move his hand away as he closes the distance between them and touches his mouth to Brendon's.

Brendon arches up to meet Spencer's mouth and this kiss is different from the others they've shared. It feels like things are changing between them, like this moment is more intense, more loaded, more _important_ than all those ones that have come before. Spencer keeps stroking at Brendon's nipple with the pad of his thumb and Brendon keeps making these tiny, breathless gasps into Spencer's kisses that make Spencer feel like he's floating on air. He shifts so that he can run his fingertips through the short hair in the nape of Brendon's neck, and Brendon whines a little and deepens the kiss, trying to sit up so that he's not resting on his elbows any longer. That just means they're pressed even closer together and Spencer can feel himself getting hard. He flushes, and he knows it's weird but he considers pulling away so he can cover himself up. He's never _been_ hard with someone else before. Not properly, not like this. It isn't like he doesn't get turned on when he's with Brendon, because he _does_. He really does. He knows that making out with Brendon is without a doubt the hottest thing he's ever done in his whole life, and it isn't like he doesn't come out of a make out session having to adjust his pants and breathing a little heavier, because he _does_. But neither of them have been half-naked before, not like this, and before now it hasn't felt like the beginning of something else, something _more_.

He's never been able to feel Brendon get hard before.

It's like the best thing he's ever felt. _Ever._ He's dizzy with it all. Breathless and unable to help himself, he rocks his hips up and he can't help the proprietary heat in his chest as Brendon makes a startled cry as Spencer's erection brushes his.

"Spencer," Brendon breathes, and he tilts his chin up so that Spencer can run his hands up Brendon's back and pull him in even closer for another kiss.

Brendon's hands are all over him, stroking at Spencer's skin and Spencer can't help being this ticklish, it isn't his fault that he can't stop wriggling as Brendon runs his hands across the hollow of Spencer's back.

"It is not my fault," Spencer says, as Brendon's mouth curves into a wide grin as he strokes his fingertips across the base of Spencer's spine, and Spencer arches up against Brendon.

"I like it," Brendon says stoutly, and without any warning at all he slides his hand under the waistband of Spencer's pants and touches Spencer's ass.

Spencer freezes. "Oh my god," he manages, which is about all he can manage to articulate when Brendon is _touching his ass_. Nobody has _ever_ touched his ass.

Brendon rolls his eyes. "You are so ridiculous," he says, but he doesn't take his hand out from down Spencer's pants.

"Am not," Spencer breathes, and he wriggles, just the tiniest amount, just enough that Brendon's fingers shift against his skin. He can barely breathe. Just the thought of being _this close_ to Brendon is doing strange, desperate, amazing things to his stomach. His heart feels all caught up and tight, like a balloon that's been blown up too much. Another few breaths and he's going to burst. He doesn't know how to move or what to say or what to touch next.

"My ass is right here," Brendon says, patiently, although he sounds anything but patient. His cheeks are flushed pink and Spencer wants to kiss him, let his mouth drag across Brendon's skin until he's all Spencer's.

"What," Spencer says, distractedly. "Oh, yeah. Right. I'll, uh." His hand hovers uncertainly.

Brendon rolls his eyes. His other hand, the one that is not down Spencer's pants and on Spencer's ass, finds its way into Spencer's hair. "It's okay," Brendon says, fingers twisting in Spencer's hair.

Spencer finds himself concentrating on Brendon's fingers, and not on what Brendon's saying, so it's a moment before he processes.

"- there's no rush for us to have sex, or anything," Brendon's saying, and he is _taking his hand out of Spencer's pants_. "I'm not going anywhere. We can just wait until you're ready -"

Spencer sits back on his heels. "What," he says. He wants to grab Brendon's hand and put it back down his pants, because he's fairly sure that if there was a place where Brendon's hand was supposed to be, Spencer's ass would be _it_. "What are you even talking about?" He reaches for Brendon's hand, but Brendon catches it and curls his fingers into Spencer's before Spencer can return it to on his ass, where he's decided it should be.

"I'm saying," Brendon says, carefully, squeezing Spencer's hand, "that I'm okay waiting."

"You are being stupid," Spencer says, and he can feel himself going red, a flush sneaking across his cheeks. He is so totally ready for sex, he has no idea what Brendon is even talking about. "I am totally ready for sex. Let's have sex now." He goes to undo the top button of his jeans, but Brendon grabs his hand and stops him.

"You, uh," Brendon says, and he's blushing too, pink-cheeked and awkward. "The pizzas," is what he says.

" _Sex_ ," Spencer says, and he's pretty sure that by now, his blush covers his neck and his chest too. He is totally ready for sex, this is stupid. He'll get his dick out right now - right _now_ \- and show Brendon he's ready. "I think about sex all the time. Let's have it now."

"Spence," Brendon says awkwardly. He won't let go of Spencer's hands, even though Spencer is trying to pull away. He's so embarrassed.

"What," Spencer says. " _What_."

"You never put your hands down my pants," Brendon says, and he's looking anywhere but directly at Spencer, which makes Spencer feel even worse. His skin feels so hot it almost hurts.

"You never put yours down mine either, until tonight," Spencer retorts.

"Yeah, but I _wanted_ to," Brendon says.

"I wanted to too," Spencer says. That is the honest truth. He wants to, more than anything.

"Yeah, but," Brendon starts. He shrugs, awkwardly. "You're not ready to, though, are you? You'd, uh. You'd rather wait."

Spencer thinks back to Brendon asking him to touch his ass. It isn't like he hasn't spent a considerable amount of time considering Brendon and him getting closer, _having sex_ , but Brendon's right. Spencer hasn't put together _having sex_ with _right now_. In his head, it's always _later on_. It isn't right here, right now. It isn't tonight. It isn't _now._

He flops down on the bed next to Brendon and buries his face in the pillow to cover up his flushed cheeks. "This is so embarrassing."

Brendon rolls over and wraps an arm around Spencer's back. "It isn't," he says confidently, which is a total lie. This is completely awkward and uncomfortable and awful. This is like the most embarrassed Spencer's ever been. He doesn't move his face from the pillow.

"I _want_ to put my hand down your pants," Spencer says, finally. He shifts a little so he can see Brendon out of one eye, and he's not actually suffocating himself anymore. He might be so embarrassed that death seems a reasonable option but he's relatively sure that _actually dying_ isn't on his to-do list for tonight.

"That's good," Brendon agrees, "because I totally want to put my hand down your pants too."

"I want to have sex, too," Spencer says, in a small voice.

"But not tonight, right?" Brendon says, curling himself into Spencer's side and sliding his knee in between Spencer's legs.

Spencer shakes his head. "No," he says. "Not tonight." He isn't even sure that sex had been on the menu for tonight. He _definitely_ doesn't want to have sex with his parents listening in. But he knows, even if his parents hadn't been in and sex definitely _had_ been on the menu for tonight, he still wouldn't have been ready. It's like... he can imagine him and Brendon having sex. He can imagine what it will be like, and how incredibly, life-shatteringly awesome it's going to be. He can imagine not being a virgin anymore and he can imagine all of the excellent stuff they're going to get up to and all of the great places he's going to put his dick and have Brendon put his. He can imagine all of that stuff and _still_ want to wait a bit longer until it actually happens.

"We are going to have the best sex in the world," Brendon says, pressing a kiss to Spencer's shoulder and hugging him closer.

"The best," Spencer says, mournfully. If Brendon doesn't dump him for being totally lame and backward first. What is _wrong_ with him? Brendon makes him hard, he wants to continue to make Brendon hard, and he wants to be with Brendon _forever_ , so why can't he just _put his damn hand down Brendon's pants_? They've gotten to the point where they're both shirtless, so why is it so hard to take the next step and take their pants off as well? Spencer hasn't let himself think too much about why it is he's been so willing to not rush this, but now that it's out in the open he can't hide from the fact that making the jump from this point to the next point on the sex scale is something he's almost but not quite ready to do. "I can't make the sex jump," he says, and he knows he's making his saddest face, because he is possibly the biggest loser that ever lost right now.

"You're totally crazy," Brendon says, plastering himself even closer to Spencer's side. "Make out with me forever."

"Your _mom_ is crazy," Spencer says.

" _Your_ mom is crazy," Brendon says, in between pressing a series of kisses to Spencer's shoulder. "You want me to give you a massage? I looked it up on the internet. It's supposed to facilitate closeness between affectionate couples."

Spencer blinks. "I am so hot for you," he says, because his boyfriend is insane.

"I know," Brendon says. "The website suggested buying massage bars that smell awesome and sexy but I used all my money this month so I stole a bar of soap from home. That'll be the same, right? Like, that's what massage bars are, right? Soap?"

"Huh," Spencer says. "Okay?" He doesn't think having a sexy massage with a bar of soap is going to be awesome at all, but he _does_ think that Brendon continuing to date him even though he's totally lame is something to be pleased about, so Brendon can massage him with whatever the hell he wants to tonight, and Spencer is not going to complain at all. "Maybe we can do it without the soap."

Brendon makes a face. "That's probably a good idea," he says. "Like, I didn't know if you were supposed to wet it first. That'd be weird, right?"

"Yeah," Spencer agrees, holding Brendon close.

" _Pizzas_ ," his mom calls, from the bottom of the stairs.

"The chicken hasn't finished clucking yet," Spencer yells back, because it hasn't. The chicken timer is still sitting on his nightstand, clucking away the seconds before it crows. Brendon buries his face in Spencer's neck and snorts.

"That chicken cannot be relied on," his mom yells. "Unless you want burnt pizzas, come down and get them out of the oven now."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "You're not going to dump me because I don't put out, are you?" He tries for as unconcerned a voice as possible, but judging by the look on Brendon's face it hasn't actually worked.

"Did you miss the part where I asked you to make out with me forever?" Brendon says, rolling over and reaching for a discarded shirt. He throws it at Spencer. "Did you miss that part?"

"A little bit," Spencer admits. His skin feels all hot and weird, and he can't tell whether that's because he's still embarrassed or still turned on. He thinks both.

"Huh, you're the dumbest boyfriend ever, then," Brendon says, tugging his shirt on. He wrinkles his nose so that his glasses aren't falling down anymore, and reaches for Spencer's hand. "Burnt pizzas, Spence. I am so dumping you if you feed me burnt pizza."

Spencer's eyes widen. "That chicken cannot be trusted," he says, pulling his shirt over his head and rushing out of the room, all in one movement. He stumbles over a pile of clothes by Jackie's bedroom door. " _Jackie_ ," he yells, grabbing Brendon's hand and pulling him after him. "You are the most annoying person in the _world_. Just move your clothes already."

"You are, you mean," Jackie retorts, sticking her head out of the door to the den as Spencer takes the steps two at a time in his rush to get down to the kitchen. "Stop touching my stuff."

"Stop leaving it on the floor for me to trip over, then," Spencer says, rolling his eyes. "That's not my fault."

"Kids," Spencer's mom says, mildly, from the kitchen. "What did I say about fighting? I am going to take you all to the market and sell you if you don't stop being so annoying."

" _Mom_ ," Spencer says, at the same time as Jackie.

"I'm going to adopt that nice Ryan kid instead," his mom says, dishing up the pizzas that Spencer had dumped in the oven. She's cut them into six slices instead of eight. His mom is so annoying. One side of them is a little burnt, but whatever, Spencer will feed Brendon the other half.

"You always say that," Spencer says, passing Brendon one of the plates of pizza his mom's prepared. She hands Spencer a bowl of salad and two cans of Coke. He fumbles them under one arm as he tries to grab the other plate. Brendon rolls his eyes and takes it from him.

"I'll take these upstairs," he says, throwing Spencer's mom an uncertain look. "Thanks, Mrs. Smith."

"Don't mention it," Spencer's mom says, but when Spencer tries to leave, she grabs his sleeve.

"Mom," Spencer complains, but she doesn't let go, not even when Brendon starts to go upstairs, sending Spencer a confused look over the banister.

"I am not actually stupid, Spencer Smith," she says, which, well. Spencer never actually came out and said she _was_.

"Yeah, yeah," Spencer says.

"No, really," his mom says. "I am not stupid, and I am not blind, and I can tell when you go upstairs wearing one shirt and come back down wearing _another one_."

Spencer looks down. "Uh," he says, because this is not his shirt. He thought it felt a bit tight. It says, _West Valley Summer Drama Camp 2009_. Spencer has never been to a drama camp. "Brendon gave it to me?" he tries.

"And you gave your shirt to him, I suppose?" his mom says, grimly. "I'll say it again, Spencer, we're not stupid. Leave that door open when you go back upstairs." His mom does not look happy, Spencer realizes. This is not her usual exasperated but still charmed face. This is her pissed face, and Spencer does not like it at all.

"Sure thing," Spencer lies. He tugs his sleeve from his mom's grasp. "Can I go now? My pizza is getting cold."

" _Adoption_ , Spencer," his mom says. "It's never too late to sell you at market." She shakes her head. "We're going to have to talk about this, Spence."

"But not now, right?" Spencer says, suddenly feeling really hot. This evening has been embarrassing enough without having to discuss why exactly he's wearing Brendon's shirt with his mom and dad, too.

Spencer's mom rolls her eyes. "Leave the door open, Spence. We'll be checking."

"Okay," Spencer lies, backing away. He bumps into the doorway on his way out. "Sure thing." There's no way he's making out with Brendon with the door open. His mom and dad will just have to deal.

"We'll be checking," his mom repeats.

"You do that," Spencer says, already half way up the stairs.

Upstairs, the chicken starts to crow, and he can hear Brendon start to laugh. "It won't turn off," he calls, and Spencer gives up trying to balance the salad and the Cokes and takes the stairs three at a time.

"You have to twist its tail," he says, as Brendon comes out of Spencer's bedroom brandishing a furiously crowing vibrating chicken.

"It doesn't _have_ a tail," Brendon says, thrusting it into the salad bowl. "It must have gotten lost. You fix it."

"I haven't got any hands," Spencer complains, but Brendon just rolls his eyes and grabs the Cokes, freeing up Spencer to fix the chicken.

"Do something," he instructs, and shuts the bedroom door, leaving Spencer in the hallway with a bowl of salad he doesn't want to eat and a chicken that won't stop crowing.

"This is not actually how I planned my evening going," Spencer mutters, trying to jab his finger into the space where the chicken's tail feathers used to be. "I am the _flyhalf_. People should appreciate me more. I used to be _king._ Aha -"

Brendon tugs open the bedroom door the moment the chicken shuts up, and grabs Spencer by the shirt. "Pizza's getting cold," he says, and tugs Spencer inside.

 _This_ , Spencer thinks, seeing that The Faculty is queued up on the DVD player, ready for them to press play, their pizza plates on the bed and the Cokes open and on the nightstand, _now this is more like it._

~*~

They're interrupted by Spencer's dad awkwardly clearing his throat outside Spencer's door. Spencer rolls his eyes. He's full from the pizza and the salad and the secret bag of gummy worms he'd shared with Brendon, and can't be bothered to move from where he's sprawled across the bed, Brendon's head pillowed on his chest as the movie plays.

"What?" Spencer asks, lazily.

"I, uh," Spencer's dad says, eloquently. He pushes the door open, and maybe flushes a little at the sight of the two of them curled up together on the bed watching the TV. Spencer's hand tightens on Brendon's shoulder, just a little, but his dad just rolls his eyes. "I brought this up for you," he says, holding out a tube of rolled up construction paper that looks a lot like Brendon's sign from earlier on. "And your mom says to remind you that you haven't made your milkshakes."

Spencer holds his hand out for the poster. "Awesome, thanks." His stomach rumbles at the idea of a milkshake but he doesn't move, not just yet, anyway. There's about another half hour left of the movie and anyway, he's comfortable here with Brendon pressed up against his side. "We'll come down and get them after the movie finishes."

"Milkshakes," Brendon says trying to sit up. Spencer tugs him back down again, because every conversation is better if Brendon is as close to him as possible. "I forgot about the milkshakes."

"I didn't," Spencer says, contentedly pulling Brendon even closer. He doesn't want to unroll his poster with his dad watching. "Thanks, Dad," he says, pointedly.

Spencer's dad shakes his head. "Fine, fine, I can tell when I'm not wanted. Enjoy the rest of the movie, boys."

"We will," Spencer says. "Close the door."

Spencer's dad snorts. "Nice try, Spence." He at least pulls the door almost closed, which is better than his mom would have done.

Spencer rolls his eyes and waits until he can hear his Dad's footsteps on the stairs before he sits up and starts to unroll the poster.

Brendon bites his lip. "It's stupid," he says.

"Is not," Spencer says, confidently. He unrolls it slowly, straightening the purple paper across his quilt so he can get a closer look. He's definitely pinning this one up on his wall, and he doesn't care if Ryan makes fun of him forever. It says,

 _ **Spencer Smith:**_

  


 _ **my favorite back!!!**_

  


 _ **10!**_

"I'm number 10," he says, because he is.

"You are," Brendon agrees. His shoulder bumps Spencer's, and Spencer curls his fingers into Brendon's. "And you are my favorite back."

"Well," Spencer says, "obviously." He's relatively sure that apart from the team, there is one single person in their school who knows about the difference between the forwards and the backs on the rugby team. The fact that it's Brendon is even better.

"Is it stupid?" Brendon asks, after a moment when Spencer doesn't say anything.

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Your face is stupid," he says, "but this poster is not, okay?"

Brendon smiles, wide and bright, and Spencer wonders what it is that is stopping him from making that extra move, the one where he leans over and takes all of Brendon's clothes off and doesn't stop there, but keeps on going. He wants to, that's for sure. Sometimes Brendon is all he can think about. And he knows that when they _do_ have sex, it's going to be the best sex ever, but right now he's kind of content sliding his hands under Brendon's shirt and making out with him, over and over and over until there's just the two of them left in the world, and nobody else.

"It's awesome," Spencer says, softly, and he makes a big deal about rolling it up carefully and sliding an elastic band around the middle so it doesn't get damaged, before standing it up next to his nightstand.

"You don't want to look at it anymore?" Brendon asks.

"Not right now," Spencer says, and he pauses the DVD before leaning in and cupping Brendon's face in his hands. "Right now I've got better things to do."

"Phew," Brendon says, and lets himself be kissed. "Me too."

~*~

"So," Mr. Smith says, coming in to the kitchen after Brendon's gone home and Spencer's stuck disconsolately mooching around the kitchen opening cupboards looking for something to eat. "You and Brendon."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "What about me and Brendon?" he asks, finding a box of Pop Tarts behind a jar of rice and yelping in triumph. He dumps two in the toaster and fist-pumps in jubilation. Pop Tarts are his favorite.

His dad, he notices, is holding his well-thumbed copy of _So! Your Kid Is Gay._

Spencer does not blush, but it's pretty close. "Haven't you read that already?" he asks.

"Most of it," his dad agrees. He pulls out a kitchen chair and waves at Spencer. "Come sit down, kiddo."

"Pop Tarts," Spencer says, waving ineffectually at the toaster. "Toaster. Hot."

His dad rolls his eyes. "Sit, Spencer," he says. He waits until Spencer has finished sighing heavily and is slumped in the kitchen chair. Whatever this is about is going to be super embarrassing, Spencer just knows. "So, your mom thinks we should have a chat -"

"I know about the birds and the bees," Spencer says, really quickly, just in case he can head his dad off before he says something they're both going to regret. Dying of embarrassment isn't how he wants to go. He does not want to die a virgin, especially if it means not getting to have sex with Brendon first.

"I'm sure you do," his dad says. "But I want to talk to you about sex." He looks as red in the face as Spencer feels. Spencer drops his head to the desk and groans.

"Please can we not?" Spencer says, without looking up. "I know all about sex. There's health class, you know." They'd had to put a condom on a banana. He and Ryan had laughed a lot and gone red at the back of the class.

"There's more to sex than just, uh -" his dad clears his throat. "The mechanics. It's, um. It's an emotional investment too, Spencer."

"I'm not having sex with Brendon," Spencer says, because while it's super embarrassing to admit that to his dad, maybe it'll mean that this conversation can finish here and never start again.

"Well, if that's true, that's great," his dad says. "Waiting isn't a bad thing. But you might have questions, and, uh, if you do. You can come to me."

"I'm not coming to you to ask you about gay sex, Dad," Spencer says, thumping his head against the table, just because. "I will ask the internet. The internet never lies."

"Sure it does," his dad says. "Remember that video I found with the tiger and the tub of yogurt?"

"No," Spencer says, sitting up. "Why are you so weird?"

"I'm just saying," his dad says. "Me and your mom. We're here. If you have any questions. We can help you figure out the answers, that's all we're saying."

 _Bet you can't figure out why I'm not having sex with Brendon yet_ , Spencer thinks, miserably. "Okay, fine," he says, "can I go now?"

"Not yet, no," his dad says. "Get your horrible Pop Tarts and sit back down again."

"You're so wrong," Spencer says, grabbing a plate and his Pop Tarts. "How's it feel, being so wrong?"

"Better than it feels eating those," his dad says. He waits until Spencer's sitting down again before he speaks. "So, Spencer, do you have anything you want to ask me?"

"About sex?" Spencer says, his brow furrowing. He thinks about Brendon, half-naked on the bed with all of that skin on show, and how Spencer just wanted to touch him all over and mouth at Brendon's nipples. About how his hand wavered and he couldn't _quite_ bring himself to slide his hand down inside Brendon's pants. "No." _Never_ , he thinks.

"Hmm. Well, if you do, you know where your mom and I are."

"I'm not asking Mom about sex," Spencer protests, hotly. "She's still weird about me, anyway." He shuts up, because he can feel the cold wave of fear that comes unbidden every time he thinks about how his mom found out that he was gay.

"She isn't," his dad says. "She really isn't, Spence. She's trying her hardest."

"Yeah, well," Spencer says. "She's still weird." He picks at his Pop Tart. It's not obvious, the change in the relationship that he and his mom have, but sometimes it feels different. There's an awkward edge sometimes that wasn't there before.

"She's adjusting," he says. "I think in her head she imagined you getting married and maybe having kids."

"I'm going to do all of that stuff," Spencer says, shrugging his shoulders. "Just with Brendon instead of some girl."

"And your mom will be the first in line to congratulate you. Just don't forget this is all new to her, so sometimes it might feel a bit strange until she finds her feet."

"You're not weird about me and Brendon," Spencer says. He eats half of one of his Pop Tarts all in one go. "How come you're not weird and she is?"

"I think," his dad says carefully, "I think it's because when she found out that you were gay it was a shock to her."

Spencer narrows his eyes. "It wasn't a shock to you?" he asks.

"I have eyes in my head, Spence," his dad says. "You think I didn't notice you checking boys out?"

" _Dad_ ," Spencer says, sharply. "That never happened. What."

"I'm just saying, Spence. Your mom maybe didn't want to see before she had to, that's all. But you haven't looked at a girl in your life. You asked for calendars with mostly-naked guys on for Christmas."

Spencer blushes a bright shade of red. "That was a _rugby calendar_ , Dad."

"Where all the players carefully took their clothing off before having their pictures taken. I'm just saying, maybe you coming out wasn't that big a surprise."

"I am not having this conversation," Spencer mumbles. "Not now, not ever."

"Your mom and I just want you to know that you can come to us. With, uh, questions. Any questions. And we'll try and help figure out the answers with you."

"Neither of you know anything about gay sex," Spencer says.

"We have had some experience of relationships, though. There was a time before we were married to each other, before we'd even met, even, when -"

"La la la," Spencer says, loudly. "Stop talking. Okay, okay, I'll come to you with stupid questions about sex and you can feel validated as parents, okay?"

"That's all we want," Spencer's dad says, soberly. "Validation from our children."

Spencer narrows his eyes. "You are weird, has anyone told you that?"

"Haven't you arranged to go on a jogging date with your boyfriend at six thirty am tomorrow?"

"There is nothing weird about that," Spencer says. "We are identifying and creating common areas of interest in order to strengthen our relationship."

Spencer's dad blinks. "Okay," he says.

"Brendon says he's borrowed a sweatband from his dad," Spencer says, finishing up his second Pop Tart. "How come you never lend me your sweatbands?"

"I am not as great as Brendon's dad, clearly," Spencer's dad says. "Go on, off you go. Conversation over."

Spencer grins, and hurries up the stairs to call Ryan before bed.

~*~

"Remind me what you're doing again?" Ryan asks sleepily, early the following morning. Spencer's alarm clock flashes _6.26_ in bright red numbers.

"Going on a jogging date," Spencer says, tugging on his shirt over his head and fumbling with his phone. "It's going to be awesome."

"Great," Ryan says flatly. "Remind me again why you needed to call me in the middle of the fucking night to tell me about you and your stupid boyfriend?"

"It's not the middle of the night," Spencer says, reaching under his bed for his sneakers. "This is the best part of the day."

"Oh god, you've finally turned into a pod-person. I knew being a jock was a bad life-choice. Can I go back to sleep yet?"

"No," Spencer says. "Come over and have breakfast with us? Dad ordered that coffee you like from that online place and the box arrived yesterday. It's in the kitchen with a big sticker on it that says RYAN. I think Jackie added a heart in red sharpie. It's cute that she's still in love with you, right? I told her I'd take a picture of you naked for her."

"I'm hanging up," Ryan warns. "That's gross. She's like my sister. You want to know how much sleep I've had? Like, four hours."

"You love me," Spencer says. "Stop hanging out with Jon at one in the morning and come hang out with us for breakfast instead."

"We were instant-messaging," Ryan says. "We're getting used to it for when he _leaves me_."

"Ah," Spencer says. "How is that?"

"Miserable," Ryan says. "He's going to get me a webcam as a leaving present. Then he can see how miserable I am without him."

"I thought when someone left you were supposed to get them a gift, not the other way around."

"He's _leaving me_ ," Ryan says. "Don't you think that deserves gifts?"

"Huh," Spencer says. "I guess. What are you getting him?"

"Something awesome," Ryan says. "I just haven't figured out what yet."

"Cool story," Spencer says. "Come over later, I've got to go, Brendon's here."

"You're such a dick," Ryan says, but he sounds fond. Spencer really actually loves Ryan a whole lot, even though he'll never let on. He dumps his phone on his bed, runs down the stairs two at a time and opens the door before Brendon's even pressed the doorbell.

"How'd you know I was here?" Brendon asks. He looks ridiculous. Spencer's so hot for him. Brendon's wearing long shorts that are barely staying up. Even the belt he's added is barely making a difference; they're hanging off his hips, and Spencer can see a full two inches of bright blue underwear peeking out from under his bright red t-shirt.

"Saw you out the window," Spencer says, nonchalantly. "What's your shirt say?"

" _Born to run_ ," Brendon says, proudly. "It's my mom's."

"Awesome," Spencer says. "Great sweatband."

"It's my dad's," Brendon says, "but I'm thinking of getting one of my own. I sweat a lot."

"Cool," Spencer says, reaching for Brendon's hand. "Come into the back yard, we can do stretches together and then climb over the fence and run out back."

~*~

"Morning, boys," Spencer's mom says, pushing open the kitchen window. "I thought you were going for a run?"

"We are," Spencer says, patiently. "We're just saying _hey_ first."

"Hmmm," Spencer's mom says. "I didn't know that tended to involve so much making out."

"It does," Spencer says. "And you're interrupting."

Spencer's mom rolls her eyes. "How long are you running for? Your dad wants to make huevos rancheros for breakfast. He's found a new recipe."

"I thought he wasn't allowed to look at food blogs anymore?"

"Apparently the parental lock doesn't actually cover searching for recipes," his mom says, leaning out of the window. (Spencer's dad's cooking occasionally takes off in a legendary direction. They've all learned to duck and cover.) "He's discovered this guy called Heston Blumenthal. I've had to tell him buying a blowtorch for the kitchen is out of the question."

"Cool," Brendon says, reverently.

"Awesome," Spencer agrees. "Why did you tell him no?"

"What we need, Spencer, is a new set of pans and a replacement food processor," his mom says. "We don't need a blowtorch."

"Fun spoiler," Spencer says. "We'll be, like, an hour." That way they can run for twenty minutes, make out for twenty minutes by the reservoir and run back. He makes the best plans.

"Okay," his mom says. "Have fun, now."

"We will," Spencer says, curling his fingers into Brendon's, and tugging him towards the back fence, and the hole they can duck through to get to the path to the reservoir.

~*~

It turns out that running with Brendon is actually kind of fun. Spencer knew it would be awesome, because everything he does with Brendon is awesome, but it turns out to be actually _great_. Brendon might not work out as much as Spencer does - because Brendon isn't on the rugby team and isn't the flyhalf, not like Spencer - but Brendon has seemingly unending, boundless energy and he keeps making them pause so that they can do star jumps by the side of the path and take it in turns to try and leapfrog over each other. Spencer instigates the sprints that Coach always makes them do, super-fast and then a slow jog, and they race each other to the next tree, or to the bend in the path, and Spencer finds himself working harder than he does when he runs by himself, or even when he runs with the team and all Spencer can think about is all of the rugby they're _not playing_ because they're running in circles around the track. Brendon doesn't even let them stop when they get to the reservoir, even though they're both sticky and hot and out of breath.

"This is downtime," Brendon says, jogging on the spot, "and we should slow down to a fast walk and cross the dam over there and then do some like, star jumps or something. What do you do when you're training?"

 _Think about you_ , Spencer thinks. "We should have a making out break," he says, sulkily, even though running is great.

"We're _training_ ," Brendon says. "This is running time, not making out time."

"You're such a slave driver," Spencer complains. "Come on, then, fast walking time."

"Awesome," Brendon grins, and runs in a circle around Spencer, just because he can. Spencer rolls his eyes, and sets off towards the dam.

~*~

They run for just over an hour in total, and they get back to Spencer's place hot and sticky and sweaty and out of breath.

"First shower," Spencer claims, pushing open the kitchen door, and tumbling inside, Brendon behind him.

"Oh no you don't, young man, guests first," his mom says, firmly. "I've put a towel out for you in the bathroom, Brendon. Use any of the toiletries you need. Spencer can just wait until you're done."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "I thought you loved me best," he complains, slumping down at the kitchen table and folding his arms. "You always pick Ryan and Brendon over me."

"That's because I like them better than I like you," she says. "Off you go, Brendon. Take your time. Spencer's dad is 'perfecting his recipe' which means we could be waiting for a while for breakfast."

"Thanks, Mrs. Smith," Brendon says, breathlessly. He helps himself to a glass of water, and then fills one for Spencer too, and hands it over. Spencer takes it gratefully, and downs it all in one go. Brendon leans against the kitchen counter and drinks his more slowly. Spencer watches the way Brendon's throat moves as he swallows, and suddenly Spencer is breathless. He turns away and traces a scratch on the table top with his finger tip.

"How come I can't use your bathroom, Mom?" Spencer asks. Their house has two bathrooms, there's no reason why he should have to wait in line to use the one he and his sisters share.

"Because you didn't ask, Spencer," she says. She's reading through one of her magazines and drinking a cup of coffee. It's a Sunday morning _thing_. Later on she'll fight with Spencer's dad over who gets to fill the crossword in in the newspaper and whoever loses will go and sulk in the living room until the other one needs their help with a crossword clue. His parents are boring and like routine. Occasionally they'll actually _fight_ and the rest of the day will feel taut and weird as his parents avoid each other and the crossword goes unfinished.

"Well?" Spencer asks.

"That's not you asking, Spencer," his mom says, without looking up.

"Mom, can I use your bathroom, _please_."

"That's more like it, Peg-leg."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "My knee is totally _fine_ , Mom, stop calling me that."

"You are the light of my life, Spencer Smith," his mom says, taking a sip of her coffee. "Now, get out of my sight and come back when you smell less like, well, less like you've been running for an hour in this heat."

" _Mom_ ," Spencer complains, but Brendon tugs him up by his wrist and drags him out the door and into the hallway. "She's so annoying," he says, half-heartedly.

"You're the light of her life," Brendon says, unconcernedly pulling Spencer up the stairs. He pushes open Spencer's door and pulls him inside.

"What -" Spencer manages, before Brendon lets the door close behind them.

"Shush," Brendon says, " _Now_ it's kissing time."

"We're all _sweaty_ ," Spencer complains, and Brendon rolls his eyes before crowding Spencer back against the door with a bump.

"You should stop complaining," Brendon hums, and rubs his nose against Spencer's. His hair is all messy, sticking up around his sweatband. "Stop complaining and start kissing."

Spencer makes a distracted, nrgh-ing kind of a noise and lets Brendon kiss him.

"See?" Brendon says decidedly, pulling away. "Totally kissing time. Am I the best boyfriend or the best boyfriend?"

"Best boyfriend," Spencer agrees, a little dazedly. "But now it's shower time, right?"

"Right," Brendon says. He sneaks his fingers under Spencer's shirt and touches Spencer's stomach; Spencer hisses in a breath and arches up, wanting to be as near to Brendon as he possibly can be. "Hey, you think one day we can shower together? In a sexy way?"

"A sexy shower?" Spencer asks. He thinks that might possibly be the hottest thing he can think of right now, but then Brendon is touching him, so he can't be held responsible for how hot he finds every idea of Brendon and him together right now.

"Yeah," Brendon says, with a shy smile. "You think, maybe? One day?"

"Sure," Spencer says, slowly. "Yeah, we could do that."

"Great," Brendon says. "Okay, now I'm going to go shower." He is, Spencer notices, hard. Spencer wants to reach out and touch, but his parents are in the house and he thinks that the first time he does actually touch Brendon's dick, he wants to smell less—funky. Brendon sees him looking, though, and grins, awkwardly. "It's not my fault you're hot," Brendon says.

"I am super-hot," Spencer says, modestly. He very carefully does not look down at his own dick, which he knows is hovering somewhere between mostly-hard and hard. Having Brendon pressed up against him, even sticky and sweaty and for only a few seconds, has had an effect on him.

"You can look," Brendon says, quickly, his cheeks flushing.

"I know," Spencer says, equally quickly. "You can look at me, too."

"Okay," Brendon says, and he actually looks down at Spencer's shorts, at Spencer's erection, and it's like all the air has been sucked out of the room and Spencer can barely breathe. Spencer tries to swallow, and he chews on his lip as he lets his own gaze drop to Brendon's shorts. There's a part of him that just wants to reach out and touch, but there's another part of him that appreciates how slow they're taking it.

"Hey," Spencer says, his throat dry and his voice catching. He wants to see, fuck, he wants to _see_. "You think we're at the _I'll show you mine if you show me yours_ point yet?"

Brendon's head darts up. He's flushed. "I thought we were waiting," he says. "I thought you wanted us to wait."

"No," Spencer says, awkwardly. "Well, yes. _Yes_. Not waiting, but, uh, building up to it slowly?"

"Right," Brendon says. "Okay."

"Okay, like, um." Spencer doesn't know what to say. He wants to _see._ He really wants to see. He wants to put things in motion, start them on this path that's going to end up at some point pretty soon with them both naked and having the best sex ever. "So, you want to?"

Brendon swallows. "I think when I imagined this I imagined us both being less sweaty," he says. He laughs, awkward and loud, and Spencer wants to just tug him closer and make out with him and never let him go.

"Yeah, but." Spencer takes a deep breath, and then talks really quickly. "If we do it now, then we can both go and shower, and um, you know, jerk off or whatever. If we want to. If we wait until after then we just have to get, I don't know, less hard and then go downstairs and eat breakfast with my mom and dad."

"Oh fuck, your parents," Brendon says, breathlessly. He is, Spencer, notes, still hard. They both are. Spencer really, really wants this. He might not be ready for everything just yet, but he is ready for this.

"They won't come in," Spencer says, confidently. "We've got a couple of minutes. So, you want to?"

Brendon's nodding even before Spencer's finished speaking. "Yeah," he says, "yes."

"Okay, so, how do we want to do this?" Spencer asks. "Count of three, or what?"

"Count of three," Brendon agrees, his fingers already playing with the waistband of his underwear. He remembers his belt and goes to undo it, leaving it hanging open.

"One," Spencer says, and his heart is beating so loud in his chest he can barely speak, "two -"

"Three," Brendon says, quickly, and tugs his shorts down.

"Oh fuck," Spencer manages, in a high voice, because that, _that_ , is Brendon's dick, and he's hard, and Spencer hasn't ever seen another dick like this before, not hard and right here in front of him and belonging to _Brendon_.

"Spencer," Brendon hisses, wrapping his arms around his chest. "You said you'd do it too."

"Sorry," Spencer says, because he can't think about anything but what he's looking at. "Sorry," he says again, and he pushes his shorts and his underwear down past his dick, leaving them halfway down his thighs. His erection, free of the confines of his underwear, springs up, embarrassingly hard. Heat thrums beneath his skin.

"Oh god," Brendon says, hoarsely.

Spencer echoes the sentiment. Brendon's dick isn't as thick as Spencer's, he doesn't think, and it's not quite as long but it looks kind of like Spencer's looks when he's hard, except that Brendon's curves a little to one side. He can't stop staring; the trail of hair from Brendon's belly button continues down, wiry and dark around the base of his dick, totally different to Spencer's, which is lighter. He wants to touch it, to see if it feels different, cup Brendon's balls just to see if it's like touching his own. He wants to run his hands across Brendon's skin, stroke him until he's breathless and panting and ready to come. Does Brendon sound different when he's about to come? Does he look different? What does he taste like afterwards? Question after question rushes through his head, one after the other, and Spencer wants answers. He wants all of it. He holds out his hand.

"Spencer," his mom shouts, from the bottom of the stairs. "Hurry up, your dad's finished up perfecting his recipe and wants to get started cooking."

"Crap, _crap_ ," Spencer hisses, tugging up his underwear. Brendon does the same, hurriedly pulling his pants. He leaves the belt undone. "Won't be long, Mom," he calls, and without waiting for Brendon he grabs the towel off the hook on the back of his door and heads out into the hallway, heading for his parents' shower.

~*~

There's probably something weird about jerking off in his mom and dad's bathroom but Spencer doesn't actually care right now. He's so turned on he can barely see straight and it's all he can do to switch the shower on to muffle the sound of his hand on his dick and the long groan he makes as he wraps his hand around his dick. He wonders if Brendon's doing the same thing down the hallway and really, it's not like it takes him long to come anyway, but this might be the shortest jerk off session he's ever had. He's barely kicked off his shorts and stumbled into the shower before he's rocking up into his fist. Brendon's _dick_. His dick, and _Brendon_ , and Spencer comes even before he's finished his thought, all across the glass door of his mom and dad's shower.

Still with his hand around his dick, he leans his forehead against the glass, breathing hard. He's never experienced coming like that before, desperate and quick and because of something _real_. "Fuck," he mumbles, his mouth curving up into a smile so wide it might actually break his face. " _Fuck_."

He showers for longer than he means to, the pounding heat of the shower exactly what he needs to try and get his head straight. He's so caught up in Brendon that he can't think about anything else, the sight of Brendon with his shorts down and his dick out just _there_ , right there in front of him every time he closes his eyes.

He washes his hair twice, because he forgets that he's done it once already. He steals his mom's coconut conditioner, just because he can, and as he runs his fingers through his hair, he starts to sing, belting out Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody at top volume. He's just singing, _We will not let you go (let him go!)_ as loud as he can when there's a knock on the bathroom door.

"Much as we're all enjoying the impromptu Queen concert," his mom calls, "Ryan's here, Brendon's already downstairs and we're all waiting on you. You think you could save the final verse for later?"

"You just don't appreciate my greatness," Spencer says, shaking his head under the spray like a dog. "Nobody does."

"Hurry it up, Spence. If your dad's going to poison us all we might as well get it over with as soon as we can."

Spencer snorts. "Can't wait," he says, and turns the water off. He checks that there isn't any residue on the door from where he came on it earlier, wiping off a smear of white with his thumb as he wraps his towel around his waist, and tumbles out of the bathroom and into the hallway, still singing Queen under his breath.

~*~

"You're late," Brendon says reprovingly, opening his front door later that day.

"Not by much," Spencer says, rolling his eyes and dumping his bike up against the wall of Brendon's house. "Like, ten minutes, maybe. I had to stop for supplies."

"I have supplies," Brendon says, folding his arms. "My mom made snacks."

Spencer sighs, and leans in so he can kiss Brendon on the cheek. "Are they _green_?" he asks, handing Brendon a paper bag that he'd stopped off to buy on the way over. "Your mom is totally weird about salad."

"Mostly green," Brendon admits. "There are Oreos, though. And chocolate milk."

"Oh god, _Oreos_ ," Spencer says. He blushes a little as he steps inside, still unable to think about much else that isn't Brendon standing half-naked in front of him. Breakfast that morning was the most awkward thing that Spencer had ever experienced, sitting around the dining room table with his mom and dad and sisters and Ryan and Brendon. He couldn't think of a single thing to say that wasn't, _so, my boyfriend's dick is totally awesome and I really want to touch it_ , which wasn't exactly something he wanted to mention over breakfast with his parents. He blushed and stumbled through a conversation about something that most definitely wasn't about potentially having sex with his boyfriend, and avoided looking at Ryan for the whole meal.

Brendon told Spencer's dad about sixteen times that breakfast was awesome, even though it was kind of weird and not all that breakfast-y, and Ryan watched them both with his eyebrows raised and a smirk playing across his face. Spencer kicked him under the table, and mouthed _Jackie loves you_ until Ryan stopped looking like he'd won a hundred bucks and started looking a little green.

Brendon made his excuses not that long after breakfast was over, telling Spencer's mom and dad that he had his own chores to do. Spencer complained, loudly and voraciously, but Brendon just pulled him to one side and kissed him until he shut up.

"Your dick is kind of amazing," he whispered, and Spencer turned bright red and promptly forgot how to make words. Then, when Brendon was saying goodbye to Spencer's parents, he leaned over to Spencer and said, "Oh, I forgot. Come over to my place later on and make Gay-Straight Alliance posters with me?"

"Sure," Spencer squeaked, even though his parents both raised their eyebrows at the mention of the Gay-Straight Alliance. Spencer was pretty sure he'd forgotten to mention to his parents that he and Brendon were going ahead with his parents' stupid idea. He made a face at them over Brendon's shoulder.

After Brendon left, Ryan lazed around in the back yard, watching Spencer do chores and smirking at him over the top of his phone. It made Spencer want to simultaneously run for the hills and also, smirk right on back because he had seen his boyfriend's dick and it was _awesome_. Spencer wondered if Ryan had seen Jon's dick yet, and couldn't help wondering why he and Ryan hadn't actually discussed having sex with their boyfriends. Anyway, Spencer mowed the lawn and cleared out all the trash from around the barbecue and contented himself trying to trim a giant dick into the hedge by the shed, all while Ryan yelled helpful comments and texted his boyfriend, so all was right with the world, and now Spencer was over at Brendon's totally not wanting to make stupid posters for the stupid Gay-Straight Alliance.

"Come say hi to my mom," Brendon says, shutting the door behind Spencer as he comes inside and kicks off his shoes. "My brother's here, too."

 _Oh god,_ Spencer thinks. There is no way he is prepared to meet any of Brendon's family, who are apparently all crazy but are also older than Brendon and probably smart and funny too. Spencer is the older brother in his family, he knows how to deal with being the eldest. He doesn't know how to deal with meeting more of Brendon's crazy family. "Do we have to?" Spencer says. "I think I'm coming down with something. Measles! Look, I have red spots. I don't want to be the guy who gives your brother measles."

"You are crazy," Brendon says, reprovingly, "but also cute when you are scared."

"I'm not scared," Spencer says, quickly. "Totally not scared."

"Awesome," Brendon says, grabbing his hand. "Then you won't mind coming and saying hi."

"Uh," Spencer manages, since Brendon has a way of getting around him that nobody else does. "Okay."

"Mom," Brendon says, tugging Spencer into the living room. "Spencer's here. Mason, this is Spencer."

Spencer has been assuming that Mason was about seven feet tall, as wide as a house, and could beat Spencer into a pulp without even thinking about it. When he stands up, it emerges that he is not seven feet tall, he is totally normal sized, is kind of bulked up but isn't like, The Rock or anything, and he wants to shake Spencer's hand. He looks like Brendon and his mom, but with less hair.

"Hi," Spencer says, in a totally normal voice, and when he holds his hand out for Mason to grab, it's definitely not sweaty and gross. Much.

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Normally he can string words together," he says, "but today he's shy."

"Am not," Spencer protests, and he realizes he still has Mason's hand in his. He drops it quickly, and steps back so he's pressed up against Brendon's side.

"Hi, Spencer," Brendon's mom says. She's in a pretty dress with flowers on it, and the same big floppy hat that she'd been wearing that time Spencer had been over and Brendon had gotten all upset about someone stealing his lunch. Spencer wonders if she sleeps in it.

"Nice hat, Mrs. Urie," Spencer says.

"Thank you, Spencer," she says. She looks a little suspicious, but she always seems to look like that when Spencer is around. Spencer is going to have work hard to ensure she realizes he is going to make the best son-in-law in the world for when he marries Brendon.

"Spencer's my boyfriend," Brendon says, brightly. His hand is tight in Spencer's, and Spencer realizes that even though Brendon's manner is casual, he's still nervous about this, about introducing Spencer to the rest of his family. Spencer squeezes Brendon's hand, and leans in a little closer to his side.

Mason raises his eyebrows. "No," he says. "No way." He slaps his hand to his chest. "And after so long of every conversation with you starting _Spencer says this_ or _Spencer does that_. None of us had any clue."

"That is so not true," Brendon says. He turns to Spencer and shakes his head. "That isn't true. Mason's being a jerk."

"Why isn't it true?" Spencer asks, wounded. "Am I not awesome enough for you to talk about all the time?"

"You are totally awesome," Brendon says. He's red-faced. "We're going upstairs to make posters for the Gay-Straight Alliance," he says.

"Have you cleaned your bedroom?" Brendon's mom asks. "Because if you haven't you'll need to work in the dining room, there's no room otherwise."

"I cleaned a bit?" Brendon says.

"Hmm," his mom says. "Go see what you think, Spencer. You'll probably want to work on the table in the dining room. Brendon's decided he doesn't need his closet anymore, he can just keep all his clothes on the floor."

"That's not true," Brendon protests. He turns to Spencer. "It's not _all_ my clothes. Just some of them. The ones I wear over again, it's easier not to hang them once they're out of the washer."

"Hmm," Spencer says. This, he thinks, is a habit Brendon's going to have to get over before they live together. Also, he was hoping there was going to be another installment of _I'll show you mine if you show me yours_ , maybe with additional stuff, which can't happen if they're in the dining room. He hasn't figured out what the additional stuff is yet, but he will do. He tries to send Brendon a message with his brain, _clean your room clean your room opportunity for nakedness_ but it doesn't seem to work because Brendon looks like he's heading for the dining room.

"You still as untidy as ever, kid?" Mason asks, leaning over and ruffling Brendon's hair. Brendon bats him away.

"No," he says, which is a lie. Spencer has seen Brendon's room. "I know where everything is, shut up."

"I don't know how you put up with him," Mason says, to Spencer, and Spencer is struck by how protective of Brendon he suddenly feels. Mason is just joking, but Spencer wants to puff his chest out and point out how awesome Brendon is and how everyone should be friends with him. It's possible that Brendon's situation at school has affected Spencer more than he knew.

"Brendon's awesome," Spencer says, stoutly, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Brendon's mom let out a breath. She is being weird, Spencer thinks.

"Hey, Mase?" Brendon says, quickly. "You want to help us make posters? We've got tons to make, we're going to put them up everywhere. We'll use the big table in the dining room. Mom? You could help too."

"Sure," Mason says, easily. "I don't need to get back for another hour or so."

"Great," Brendon says, in satisfaction. "Mom?"

"Okay," she says, but Spencer thinks she sounds doubtful. "Let me go call your sisters and then I'll come through and help, okay?"

There is some underlying tension that Spencer can feel in the air, but he's not very good at figuring stuff like that out. He doesn't know what's going on, but Brendon's shoulders are stiff. Spencer wants to rub them, dig his thumbs into the muscles until Brendon lets out a breath and relaxes.

"Right," Mason says, clapping his hands together, "let's go get started. I haven't made school posters in years."

"That's because you're _old_ ," Brendon points out, letting go of Spencer's hand, and Mason tucks Brendon's head in the curve of his elbow so he can ruffle his hair.

"I am _not old_ ," Mason says, and Brendon snorts a laugh and wraps his arm around Mason's waist.

"You so are," he says, grinning, and Spencer grins too, because Mason looks at Brendon like he's _great_ , and there need to be more people in the world who do that.

~*~

"Mom hasn't come in to help," Brendon says, steadily, a half hour or so later.

Mason shoots a glance towards Spencer, and then back towards Brendon. "She's worried, kid," he says.

"Worried about _what_?" Brendon asks, refusing to look up from his construction paper poster. He's painting _Gay-Straight Alliance_ in bright rainbow letters across the centre of the sheet.

"That you're drawing attention to yourself," Mason says, and Spencer drops his brush. "That you're going to, uh, make things worse for yourself at school."

"That's not going to happen," Spencer says, before Brendon has a chance to respond. "He's got a ton of us watching out for him, now, and soon everybody's going to know you don't screw around with him."

"Spence," Brendon hisses, appalled.

Spencer does not give in. This is what he is famed for on the rugby team, his dogged determinism. "I mean it," he says. "No way is this going to make things worse."

"You can't know that," Brendon says in a quiet voice, and for the first time Spencer's aware that this is actually a genuine worry for Brendon, that this could descend into something that makes school even worse for him, and yet he's doing it anyway. He's starting the Gay-Straight Alliance even though it might make him more of a target.

"I can," Spencer says, fiercely. He grabs Brendon's hand and doesn't look across at Mason. "I _can_." He doesn't know how he's going to fix this, but he _will_.

Brendon looks down at his poster. He's put an extra _l_ in Alliance. He scrunches the paper up into a ball and drops it on the floor.

Spencer feels helpless.

"You're doing a cool thing, Brendon," Mason says, after a moment. "Don't beat yourself up about what might or might not happen." He shrugs his shoulders. "I'll go see what's holding Mom up."

Brendon nods, but doesn't look up as Mason leaves, and Spencer's left wrapping his arm around Brendon's shoulder and leaning in to rub his nose against Brendon's cheek.

"I'm such a loser," Brendon says, miserably.

"Or," Spencer says, "you're awesome and everyone else is the loser. That's possible, right?"

"I guess," Brendon says, doubtfully. "I spelled Alliance wrong."

"Only once," Spencer says, "and we've made, like, ten posters already." They have. There are ten brightly-colored rainbow-lettered posters, each with _Gay-Straight Alliance_ written across the middle, and _first meeting:_ underneath. They are going to fill in the date and time and room in later, once they've got it fixed up. "Everyone's going to want to join. There'll be a _line_ of kids wanting to hear what you've got to say."

"You think?" Brendon asks. "Really?"

"Really," Spencer says, and he means it, even if he has to go and round up the kids one by one, all by himself. There is literally no way on earth Brendon's Gay-Straight Alliance isn't going to be a success, even if he has to _bribe_ people to turn up and enjoy it. He will sell his bike if he has to. Maybe.

Brendon leans his head on Spencer's shoulder, and Spencer presses a kiss to Brendon's temple. He's almost forgotten that it was only this morning that he got to see Brendon's dick, but now that he's pressed up close to Brendon's side it's all too clear in his mind. He can still see Brendon there in front of him, shorts halfway down his thighs, dick hard and flushed, Brendon biting his lip. He's breathless just thinking about it. He whispers, "Your dick was really nice," because he hasn't had a chance to tell Brendon that yet.

Brendon snorts out a laugh, his shoulders shaking, and Spencer's just glad that he didn't say anything sexy in return, because his mom and his brother walk in at that point. Instead of finding them discussing each other's dicks, they find Brendon snorting with laughter and Spencer looking pink-cheeked and grinning.

"Chocolate milk," Brendon's mom says, and she slides the tray onto the dining room table. "You boys have been busy," she says. "Do you still need help?"

" _Yes_ ," Brendon says, fervently. "We have all the pins to make."

"Well," Brendon's mom says, "tell me what you need me to do and I'm all yours."

Brendon's mouth curves into a grin, and Spencer can't help it, he smiles in return.

~*~

"You know what this party's missing?" Brendon's mom says, after another hour of cutting and sticking and painting. "A _working song._ "

"Like in _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_!" Brendon says.

"Or in _Enchanted_ ," his mom supplies.

Mason leans over the table and claps Spencer on the shoulder. "I'm sorry," he says, with a straight face. "You should have gotten out while you still could have. Now you're one of us, and that means you have to _sing_."

Spencer dies a little inside. "I just have to, uh, go -"

"Sit down," Brendon says, brightly, his hand on Spencer's arm. "You're not going anywhere."

Spencer sits back down, and across the other side of the table, Mason smirks and mouths _owned_.

 _Well_ , Spencer thinks, _yes_.

~*~

"Well," Brendon says, flopping down on to his bed and sweeping a pile of clothes onto the floor. "That was fun, right?"

"Hmm," Spencer says non-committally. He has paint on both his hands that won't come off even though he scrubbed for, like, two minutes. His finger hurts from pressing the button on the pin-making machine - and who had a pin-making machine of their own, anyway? Apparently Brendon's mom and dad did a lot with their church even though Brendon didn't go with them anymore, and part of going to church included making fuck-loads of pins, what the fuck. "Yes?"

"Shut up, you did enjoy yourself," Brendon says. "I saw you. Stop pretending you're too tough for painting."

"Painting sucks," Spencer complains, half-heartedly stepping over a pile of clothes that look like they might be clean. He stumbles over a stray shoe and sits down heavily on the edge of the bed. Brendon curls an arm around Spencer's waist and presses a kiss to Spencer's back through his shirt. Spencer wriggles in appreciation.

"I saw you painting scenery for _Hairspray_ , don't forget," Brendon reminds him. "Don't pretend you didn't like it."

"I was trying to win you," Spencer says, lazily. "I was wooing you with dedication."

"You were painting a lot and watching my ass," Brendon says. "Stop sitting there and lay down and kiss me."

"It's a nice ass," Spencer points out.

"I know," Brendon says, unconcernedly. "Now come over here and touch it."

"You have all the best ideas," Spencer says, sprawling across the bed and tugging Brendon in towards him. Brendon curls into his side with practiced ease and Spencer's stomach makes its familiar, practiced turnover at Brendon's proximity. Even now, when their relationship isn't all that new anymore, and when Spencer can kiss Brendon any time he wants to, even now it still feels brand new and exciting to know he can lean over and touch. Spencer's heart still skips a beat at Brendon kissing him. Brendon's the best thing that's ever happened to him, hands down.

"You're not kissing me," Brendon points out.

"You're not kissing _me_ ," Spencer says.

"Yeah, but," Brendon shrugs, cheeks a little pink. "I like it when you start it."

A warm buzz curls in Spencer's stomach. "Really?" he asks, smoothing Brendon's hair behind his ear. He likes it when he gets to start stuff too, likes the way Brendon leans in to him, mouth opening eagerly beneath Spencer's kisses. That makes Spencer feel... pretty special. He rolls Brendon over so that he's kneeling up over Brendon, knees either side of Brendon's hips. Brendon's breathing a little hard already, skin flushed, and as Spencer leans in slowly, he can feel the almost imperceptible rock of Brendon's hips. He wants to go further than this _so much_ , and he's almost there, but not quite just yet. He touches his mouth to Brendon's, and as Brendon wraps his arms around Spencer's back, Spencer kisses him again, a little deeper this time around. Brendon's mouth opens beneath Spencer's, just a little, sweet and enthusiastic. He tastes like chocolate milk and Oreos.

They make out for what feels like forever, until Spencer's arms start to give out from holding himself up and Brendon complains his neck aches from reaching up to kiss Spencer.

Spencer flops down on the bed next to Brendon and slings his arm across Brendon's stomach, tugging him closer. He knows that if he were to slide his hand just that bit lower he'd be able to feel how hard Brendon is but he doesn't. He looks, though, because they can do that now, they can look. Brendon rolls his hips, just a bit, just enough to get comfortable. Spencer's mouth feels dry.

"You think we can, uh—" he motions his hand, some kind of mime that's supposed to encompass pulling his shorts down.

Brendon shrugs awkwardly and looks at the door. "My mom," he says. "I don't know, Spence, I think I'd probably die if she accidentally walked in on me with my dick out."

"That sucks," Spencer says, but he agrees. When they're older and they have their own place, he is going to demand that Brendon be naked for _always_.

"I've been thinking, though," Brendon says, rolling on to his side and hooking his foot over Spencer's ankle. Spencer can feel Brendon's dick brush against his thigh. "Like, how do you feel about phone sex?"

"Phone sex," Spencer manages, in as normal a voice as he can manage.

"Yeah," Brendon says, "as like, the next step in our plan."

"Our plan?"

"Our plan," Brendon says. "Our plan to have sex at some point before we die."

"Um," Spencer says. "Yes please?"

"Awesome," Brendon says, in satisfaction. "You think we need to practice our dirty talk?"

"Like what?" Spencer says, nonplussed. "Give it to me harder, big guy?"

Brendon makes a face. "What kind of porn do you watch, dude?" he asks.

"The good kind," Spencer says, flushing. _The kind with guys that look like you_ , he fills in, silently. He doesn't think about that other folder of files that he hasn't looked at since Ryan accidentally uncovered it. The stuff he's too embarrassed to admit to. "I don't know, B. What do you do when you're having phone sex?"

Brendon shrugs. "We both jerk off, I think. Together."

"Huh," Spencer says, since that sounds pretty incredible, and doesn't push any of the buttons that make him feel uncomfortable about the actual having sex part of having sex. He'd always mocked the idea of not being ready to have sex, but now it came to it, it was just _true_. "Can we do it now?"

Brendon snorts. "We're both here, Spence."

"I could go down the hall," Spencer says, grinning. "Or you could sit in the closet and I could stay out here. Whatever, let's do it now."

"You are so weird," Brendon says. He presses a kiss to the underside of Spencer's jaw and Spencer shivers at the closeness. He loves it best when it's just him and Brendon and they can be as close as this, just the two of them against the world. "So. This evening, maybe? After my mom and dad have gone to bed? I could call you?"

"Yeah," Spencer says, softly. "Let's do it then."

~*~

Spencer is antsy for the rest of the day. His foot jitters repeatedly as he watches the end of some stupid lame movie with his mom and his sisters, and he keeps checking the time. Brendon's parents go to bed at eleven, he'd said, so all Spencer had to do was wait until then, and then wait for Brendon's call.

"You're being super annoying, Spence," Crystal says, throwing a cushion at Spencer's face. "Can you just _stop?_ You're making the table rattle."

"Am not," Spencer lies. He texts Ryan instead, _whats it like havin sex with jon_.

 _private_ , Ryan texts back, after far too long ignoring Spencer's text.

Spencer rolls his eyes. _worst bff ever,_ he types, one-handed.

 _ru n brendon gonna do it_ , Ryan texts.

 _soon,_ Spencer types, after a minute. _Waiting until we have the place to ourselves_. It isn't exactly a lie, but it's the only half-truth he can remember ever deliberately telling Ryan. It feels weird, but not as weird as actually telling Ryan that he's too crappy to even have sex properly. He isn't sure he can deal with the mockery from Ryan about how stupid he is.

"Is it nearly over yet?" Spencer asks, pointing at the TV.

"You don't have to watch it," Spencer's mom says, meditatively. "Your dad's in the den secretly reading cookbooks. If you go bug him he might play foosball with you."

"You just don't want him to make you eat cauliflower risotto again," Spencer complains, even though the foosball table in the garage sounds kind of fun. "Everything's always about you."

Spencer's mom doesn't deny it. "This way we're all winners," she says. "You know how you like that. Shut up and go bug your dad, Spence. The girls and I are watching this."

Spencer sighs, and checks his watch. Another hour to go.

~*~

He's in his bedroom when the call finally comes. He's turned all the lights off so that his mom and dad will think he's gone to bed, and he's stripped down to just his boxers. He doesn't want to take them off until it's time. His heart's beating a crazy, heavy rhythm loud in his chest and when his phone starts to buzz his hand's so sweaty he can barely stab at the answer key with his finger.

"Hey," he says, awkwardly.

"Hi," Brendon says, breathlessly. "Sorry I'm late, my mom and dad wouldn't go to bed. I kept yawning in case it'd make them start, but it just _didn't_."

"It's okay," Spencer says, even though he'd started to think that Brendon had changed his mind. "Are you still, uh. Are we doing this?"

"Only if you haven't changed your mind." Brendon sounds careful, but there's something excited and anticipatory in the way he speaks, muted enthusiasm barely hidden.

"I haven't," Spencer says quickly. "Are you, um, ready?"

"Pretty much," Brendon says. There's silence for a beat. "Where are you?"

"In my room," Spencer says. He fingers the waistband of his boxer shorts, not knowing whether to take them off or not.

"Me too," Brendon says. "Hang on, let me just—"

"What are you doing?" Spencer asks.

"Taking my shorts off," Brendon says.

Spencer can barely breathe. "Are you naked?"

"I have my t-shirt on," Brendon says. "Hang on, I'll take that off too."

Spencer swallows. Brendon _naked_. He's been thinking about Brendon's dick all day long, wondering what it might be like to actually touch it. Would it feel like touching his own, he wonders? Would Brendon like the same things Spencer does? Does Brendon like to touch his balls when he jerks off, or is that just Spencer? Has Brendon ever, uh, touched his ass? Spencer burns bright red. He tugs down his boxer shorts and kicks them across the room, launching himself on his bed.

"What are you _doing_?" Brendon asks, sounding a mix between breathless and amused. It's a good mix, Spencer thinks.

"Getting naked," Spencer says. "Naked and in bed."

"Wow," Brendon says. "Are you, uh—have you um touched yourself yet?"

"Not yet," Spencer says, looking down. His dick is erect and kind of _bouncy_. He runs his thumb through the blond, wiry hair at the base of his erection. His little finger brushes against his dick and Spencer hisses in a breath.

"Spence?" Brendon asks, hesitantly.

"Oh, fuck," Spencer says, his cheeks flushing red. He can't quite believe they're doing this, that he's going to jerk off here and Brendon's going to jerk off in his bedroom and they're both going to come and hear each other. It's enough to get him off without even jerking off.

"I'm touching myself," Brendon says, after a moment, and Spencer groans and circles his fist around his erection, straining to hear. "It feels - it feels pretty good, Spence."

"Sure it does," Spencer says, moving his hand. "It's jerking off. It's like the best thing ever."

"Almost," Brendon says. "Like, okay." He's panting just a little and Spencer thinks, _that's because he's jerking off_ , and more than anything he wants to fucking _see_. "When do you normally jerk off?"

"Now," Spencer says, without thinking, fist jacking his erection. "At night. Before I go to sleep."

"Me too," Brendon says. "Every night." There's a pause. "Think about you."

Spencer makes a desperate, cut-off groan. That's like, that's _really fucking hot_. He tries to imagine Brendon jerking off thinking about him, and he can't. He can only thinking about Brendon doing it the way that Spencer does, which is weird. "You make me really hard," is what he says instead, which is the truth. Spencer's so fucking hard, and he has to cradle the phone between his ear and his shoulder so that he can reach down and cup his balls, which is how he likes to jerk off. "Like, all the time."

"Same," Brendon tells him. "You do all these crazy things to my head," he goes on. "I have all these, I don't even know, _thoughts_. I imagine you doing all this stuff to me."

"What kind of stuff?" Spencer asks.

"I don't know," Brendon says. "Stupid stuff. I'd sit in between your legs and you'd jerk me off."

Spencer hisses in a breath. "Yeah?" he manages.

"Yeah, and all this other stuff, too." Brendon seems strangely reticent about saying what's on his mind but Spencer doesn't push it like he normally would. It's like he's got too much going on inside of his own head for trying to figure out what's inside Brendon's too.

"We can do it all," Spencer says, rocking his hips up into his fist. He likes to fuck his hand sometimes, likes the way it feels different.

Brendon's breath stutters. "Yeah?" he says, and his voice sounds different. Darker. Hotter. Spencer wonders what the fuck is going on in Brendon's head that makes him sound like that, and he doesn't care what it is, he'll do it, whatever Brendon asks of him.

"All of it," Spencer confirms, and Brendon makes this _sound_ , this desperate, broken-off sound and Spencer can _hear him_ jerking off. He can hear the sounds of Brendon's fist on his dick and this is not like he imagined it. He didn't think it was going to be like this. He didn't think it was going to be this hot. He didn't know he'd want so much more, and that he'd want it _now_. "Fuck, Brendon," he says, then before he can help it, "what are you doing?"

"You want me to tell you?" Brendon asks, rushed.

Something hot and unfamiliar thrums beneath Spencer's skin. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I want you to tell me."

"I'm on my side," Brendon starts, and Spencer hadn't imagined that. He has to readjust his mental imagery. "Need both hands," he explains, "got the phone against the pillow. Don't need to hold it."

Spencer's hips rock up, outside of his control. "Go on," he says.

"Got one hand on my dick," Brendon says, breathlessly, and Spencer thinks his actual world is turning upside down, right here and right now. "And my other hand -" he breaks off.

"Keep talking," Spencer says urgently. He's fisting his erection fast and hard, and his orgasm is curling in his belly, he can _feel it_. "Brendon, where's your other hand?"

"My ass," Brendon says, haltingly. "Fingers—"

That, Spencer thinks, desperately, is not what he imagined. He doesn't know _what_ it was he was imagining because right now there's only one thought in his head, and it's what Brendon's doing now, right this second at the other end of the phone. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ," Spencer manages, breathless and desperate. "Gonna come, Brendon, going to come."

"Holy shit," Brendon groans. "Fuck, Spence-"

It's enough to have Spencer tip over the edge; to have him tilt his hips up one last time and come, all over his fist and his stomach. He sprawls across the sheets, still breathing hard.

"Spence," Brendon says, and his voice sounds kind of wrecked, which is not how Spencer's used to hearing him sound. Spencer holds the phone even closer to his ear, just in case he can hear Brendon jacking off even better than he could before. His own breathing's loud, though, and Brendon's is hurried and desperate. "I'm close," Brendon says. "Want this to be your hand, oh my god. Want this to be _you_ ," and that breathless, cut-off gasp, Spencer realizes, is the sound of Brendon coming.

It is without a doubt the hottest thing Spencer has ever heard in his whole entire life. He wipes the moisture off his brow with the back of his hand, and wonders when it was that he got _sweaty_. "B," he says, after a moment. "Brendon?"

"Still here," Brendon says, after a beat. He still sounds kind of wrecked.

"I wish it was me too," Spencer says. Brendon doesn't say anything. "Not your hand. My hand. Me."

Spencer can hear the sheets rustling down the phone line, and he rolls over onto his side, phone pressed to his ear.

"Soon," Brendon says, softly. "Soon, right?"

"Real soon," Spencer agrees, since there is no way he's holding out on the possibility of seeing Brendon come right in front of him any longer than he seriously has to. He waits a while before saying anything else, content just to listen to the rustle of Brendon's sheets and his breathing. "Were you really..." he starts. "Do you do that? Finger yourself?"

Brendon's breath catches. "Yeah," he says. "I like it."

"Oh god," Spencer says. His brain is actually on fire. There is no way he's not going to jerk off to the image of that for the rest of _forever_.

"That's okay, right?" Brendon says, after a moment.

Spencer makes a face. "Are you kidding me?" he asks. "Anything you do is okay, what the fuck. I'm just saying, that's like the hottest fucking thing you could have told me, in like, forever, oh my god."

"Okay, because I'm like." Brendon stops. "I don't know if any of the stuff that I do or that I want is weird, okay? You've got to tell me if it's weird."

"You're weird," Spencer says. "You're weird if you don't think everything about you is the hottest thing ever, oh my god."

"Like, _really_ ," Brendon says. "Sometimes I think my brain is totally fucked up."

"Except for how it isn't," Spencer says, tugging up the sheets because it's getting cold now that the initial comedown is wearing off. "Seriously," he says, because sometimes things feel really clear in his head and that's not actually all that common for him. "I like tons of weird, fucked-up shit. This is why we're so awesome together."

"Our common ground is weird shit," Brendon says.

"Yes, that."

Brendon hums. "Did you like it?" he asks. "I mean—do you want to do it again sometime?"

"Only every night forever," Spencer says, quickly. _With pictures,_ he thinks. _In person._ Definitely in person.

"Oh, okay," Brendon says. "Because that's what I was thinking too."

"Great minds think alike," Spencer grins. Brendon laughs down the phone line, failing to hide his yawn. _Yes_ , Spencer thinks, _doing this forever_.

~*~

"Okay, so," Brendon says, before Spencer's even skidded to a halt and leaned in to kiss Brendon good morning. "I've arranged for us to meet the COSA at the end of lunch. You haven't got rugby practice today, have you?"

"What the fuck is the COSA?" Spencer asks, dumping his bike on the floor and hopping over it so he can slide his hands down Brendon's sides. It's been a whole day since they had phone sex and Spencer's spent most of his Sunday wondering whether this counts as losing his virginity. He's pretty sure it doesn't, but he thinks if anyone asks if he's a virgin or not he can say _no_ without worrying unduly that he's lying. He'd thought it might be weird, seeing Brendon again after they'd shared something new and sexy. He'd thought things might have changed, but they haven't at all. Brendon looks just the same, a little flushed maybe, but just the same. He's wearing his glasses and he keeps having to push them up his nose with one finger, and his t-shirt says _Star Wars_ in washed-out yellow lettering. There are faded sweat stains under the arms and that should be gross, but Spencer kind of likes Brendon regardless of how much he sweats. "Hi."

"Hi," Brendon says, pushing his glasses up his nose again. He blinks, smiling in the sunlight, and Spencer actually feels his chest expand.

"Hi," Spencer says, again, and he leans in so that he can tilt Brendon's chin up and kiss him hello. Spencer loves early morning kisses because Brendon always tastes just a little bit like toothpaste, which Spencer actually really likes the flavor of. "COSA?"

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Do you do anything at school except play rugby?"

"Classes," Spencer says. "Detention. Be awesome."

"Co-ordinator of Student Activities," Brendon tells him, exasperatedly. "We have to go see the COSA and get permission to start the Gay-Straight Alliance."

"Awesome," Spencer says. "What do we have to get them to sign?"

"It's really late in the year, Spence," Brendon says. "They might not even say yes."

"Yeah, right," Spencer says. "We made posters. It'll be great."

"Hmm," Brendon says, watching as Spencer picks up his bike and locks it up. Spencer can feel his eyes on him. It feels pretty good.

"We'll wow them with our plans to educate and engage our peers with a comprehensive equality information plan," Spencer says, remembering the chapter in his mom and dad's book on _Things You May Want To Do Now Your Kid Has Come Out: Part One: High School_.

Brendon grins. "I love it when you're smart," he says, tucking his hand into Spencer's elbow. "It makes me hot."

"You make me hot," Spencer says, determinedly not blushing. "Who is it we have to impress with this shit anyway?"

"Uh," Brendon says, pressing himself to Spencer's side. Spencer remembers the sound of Brendon jerking off down the phone, and the way he'd said, _fingers_ , like it wasn't the hottest thing Spencer had ever heard. "Mr. Vasquez?"

"We're totally fucking screwed," Spencer says, brightly.

"You'll have to show him how awesome you are," Brendon tells him.

"Hmm," Spencer says. "Okay." At least the showing Mr. Vasquez how awesome he is would be easy, anyway. Mr. Vasquez would just have to look at him to see that. The rest might not be so easy and he starts listing all the positive points about starting up the club in his head, ready to reel off to Mr. Vasquez at lunchtime. He wonders when getting the Gay-Straight Alliance off the ground became so fucking important to him, but then he remembers meeting Brendon's brother and realizing that Brendon might be making himself more of a target by fronting the GSA, and things get clearer in his head. "This is going to be the best club ever," he says, finally, because there's a furrow between Brendon's eyebrows and Spencer wants to smooth it away with his fingertips.

"Except for rugby and drama, obviously," Brendon reminds him.

"Well," Spencer says, "obviously." He slides his arm around Brendon's back, tucking his fingertips into the waistband of Brendon's jeans. It feels like it might be obvious to everyone around them that things have changed between them, that they've moved up to the next stage of their relationship, the part with shared orgasms. Now all they have to do is have them in the same house. The same room, even. Maybe the same bed.

"Are you meeting Ryan before school?" Brendon asks.

"He's got an arts magazine meeting," Spencer says. "He came over to have coffee this morning. He's planning something awesome for Jon's leaving gift."

"What is it?" Brendon asks.

"No idea," Spencer admits. "He's keeping it secret, he says, because he thinks I'll give it away to Jon. Like that's going to happen. I am the world's greatest secret keeper. I'm thinking of firing him as my best friend. I'll send him a memo later on."

"So..." Brendon says, waggling his eyebrows. "If Ryan's busy and I haven't got to go to the drama room and we have twenty minutes until homeroom—"

"Oh my god," Spencer says. "We totally have time for another Harry Potter chapter." He waits a moment while Brendon tries to school his features into something more enthusiastic. "Totally kidding," he says. "Let's go make out in the janitor's closet."

Brendon lets out a breath. "Oh fuck," he says. "I thought you were serious. I mean, I love Harry Potter, but this is making out time."

Spencer fervently agrees. "Come on," he says , "let's go scandalize the mops."

"You say the most romantic things," Brendon grins. "It's like dating a romance novel."

Spencer puffs his chest out. "I know," he says. "I am a _hero_."

Brendon punches him in the side. "Loser," he says.

"You're turning into Ryan," Spencer says. "Do I need to send you a memo too?"

Brendon just laughs, and pushes him towards the janitor's closet. "Making out time, Spence," he says.

Spencer grins, and lets himself be pushed.

~*~

The meeting with Mr. Vasquez sucks. _It's too late in the year to start up a new club,_ he says, and claims that no amount of Spencer complaining is going to change his mind.

Spencer folds his arms. "You are stunting our emotional and intellectual growth," he says. "And stifling a vital resource for the education of our fellow students."

"You read that in a book, Spencer Smith," Mr. Vasquez says, rolling his eyes.

"Did not," Spencer lies. "Tell him, Brendon."

Brendon hasn't said much during the meeting. He's sat quietly as Spencer listed all the reasons why the Gay-Straight Alliance would be awesome, and he looks startled as Spencer elbows him.

"Brendon?" Mr. Vasquez asks. "Do you have something to say?"

"Just..." Brendon trails off. "I think this would be a really great club, Mr. Vasquez."

"I don't doubt that, Brendon," Mr. Vasquez says. For a moment he looks vaguely human and Spencer isn't reminded of Jon Stewart in _The Faculty._ "But it's too late in the year. It's almost graduation."

"In a _month_ ," Spencer complains. "You can do tons in a month."

Brendon looks kind of desperate, and Spencer wants to reach out and grab his hand.

"I just want to do this _now_ ," Brendon says. "We could get it started at least. Hand out fliers. Elect people for the committee for next year. We could do that, right?"

"It's highly unusual, Brendon," Mr. Vasquez says. Spencer thinks he might be wavering. He plasters on his most ingratiating smile. It almost hurts.

"But not forbidden, right?" Brendon says. "Think about how helpful a group like this could be on campus. Promoting peer education and fighting intolerance and, uh, saying no to homophobic bullying."

Mr. Vasquez is watching Brendon very carefully, Spencer notices. He doesn't tell Brendon that he sounds like he's quoting from a text book. Spencer tries not to care because he thinks this might actually be working. "Does this school have a problem with homophobic bullying the faculty isn't addressing?" Mr. Vasquez asks, in a calm, disinterested kind of voice. Spencer narrows his eyes.

Brendon fidgets. "Maybe," he says, finally, tilting his chin up defiantly.

Spencer gives up and reaches over and squeezes Brendon's sweaty hand. He tries not to blink as he stares at Mr. Vasquez.

"Right," Mr. Vasquez says. He shuffles some papers on his desk, and clears his throat for a moment before speaking. "You say you have a faculty sponsor?"

"Ms. Elliot," Brendon says, hopefully.

"I will allow you to have two set-up meetings in preparation for the next academic year," he says, finally. "You can speak with Ms. Elliot about how to format your meetings, but you can elect your committee and figure out the kinds of things you want to address in the new year. Deal?"

Spencer tries to say, "No," but Brendon speaks over him, loudly and firmly.

"Yes," Brendon says, squeezing Spencer's hand and shooting him a _look_. "That's awesome, thank you."

"Yeah, thanks," Spencer says, after Brendon kicks him in the ankle.

"Your gratitude is overwhelming," Mr. Vasquez says, dryly.

Spencer rolls his eyes. Whatever. Their club is going to be awesome even if they can't start it properly until next year.

"You can go now, boys," Mr. Vasquez says. "Unless you've got something else with which to interrupt my lunchtime."

"Go on, pretend like you don't love us," Spencer says. "We won't tell anyone."

"Go, Spencer Smith," Mr. Vasquez says, but Spencer can see the beginnings of a smile curving at the edges of his mouth. _Ha._

"Later," Spencer says, as Brendon propels him out of the room, one hand in the small of Spencer's back.

"We have a club," Brendon says breathlessly, once they're out in the hallway. "We have a _club_. We did it."

"We did," Spencer agrees, and he remembers the point where he thought the Gay-Straight Alliance was stupid, and he wants to squirm. Now it makes Brendon look like this, bright-eyed and enthusiastic and _hopeful_ , and Spencer will do whatever it takes to ensure that Brendon continues to look like this for as long as he can make it so. "We really did."

~*~

Ms. Elliot lets them use the drama classroom for their first Gay-Straight Alliance meeting. They arrange it for the following Monday after school and they spend the rest of the week handing out fliers with _Gay-Straight Alliance_ emblazoned across the front and a border of tiny rainbows. Spencer gets Zack on board and together they bug the rugby team into helping hand out their pamphlets; it's not actually as easy as Spencer expected it would be. Some of the team make faces and more than one of them says, _I'm not fucking gay_ , but Spencer rolls his eyes. "Did I say you were?" he says. "And please, you're not that hot, stop fucking thinking that every gay guy will want to make out with you. I don't, so shut up and sit down."

It helps that he has Zack by his side, standing there with his arms folded, and that Coach stands in the doorway with his GSA pin on his shirt, just next to his whistle. Spencer thinks that Coach probably sleeps in that whistle. He's certainly never seen him without it.

"This is an opportunity for you guys to do something really cool," Coach says, interrupting. "You get to use your power for _good_. Like Spiderman."

The team look blankly at him, and Coach sighs. "How can you not react to _Spiderman_?" he asks. He shakes his head. "What did you kids grow up with?"

"Hannah Montana," Dallon Weekes says. "It scarred us."

"Hmmm," Coach says. "I expect each and every one of you to wear one of Spencer's pins. What he and—" he stumbles over Brendon's name, "— _Brendon_ are doing is highly commendable and I would be proud of you boys if you would stand up with them."

A couple of the team roll their eyes and mutter things under their breath, but Spencer is too busy and too important to listen to them. "Look, if you're all too fucked up—"

"Spencer," Coach reproves.

"- _screwed_ up and insecure to wear a GSA pin in public then we'll make you some that say, _I'm not gay I'm just really supportive_ , or something. Better?"

"I guess," one of the forwards mutter. "It'd better be bigger than the GSA pin."

"It'll be as big as your dick," Spencer says brightly. Next to him, Zack waggles his little finger, and the rest of the team snort. "Awesome," Spencer goes on. "Zack's got the fliers, each of you take a handful, and a pin badge, and we can start handing them out at lunch time on the steps by the cafeteria."

~*~

"I'm not gay," Phil Johnson says, handing out a flier to a girl coming out of the cafeteria at lunchtime. "I'm not gay, I'm not gay, I'm not gay." He hands out three more leaflets to three passing students, wearing his rugby shirt with his two _I'm not gay, I'm just really supportive_ pins in the middle of his chest. Spencer watches him and rolls his eyes, Brendon bumping his hip into Spencer's. He's wearing his _my boyfriend's the flyhalf_ t-shirt again, which makes Spencer's stomach turn somersaults and his skin flush pink, because Brendon is _awesome_.

"Neither am I," a tiny blonde girl says, taking a flier. "Do you want to sit by me at the meeting?"

"Sure," Phil Johnson says, smiling broadly. "Do you want one of our _I'm not gay, I'm just really supportive_ pins?"

"No," she says. "I'm totally secure in my sexuality, thank you. Are you still going to be wearing yours on Monday?"

"No," Phil says quickly, snapping his pins off and dumping them in his pocket. "I am totally secure in my sexuality too. Want to get a burger after the meeting?"

"I'm a vegetarian," the girl says. Spencer recognizes her from one of his classes, but he can't remember which one. Biology, maybe.

"Oh, me too," Phil lies. Spencer smirks. "You want to hand out fliers with me?"

"Sure," the girl says.

"We are bringing people together," Brendon says, happily, handing out another handful of fliers. "We are awesome."

" _You_ are awesome, you mean," Spencer says. He lowers his voice. "I want to bring _us_ together," he says. "Why can't we hang out in the janitor's closet?"

"Because we have fliers to hand out," Brendon reminds him. "And because the whole point of this club is that we don't have to hang out in _closets_ anymore."

"I thought you liked making out with me," Spencer frowns. "Don't you like making out with me?"

"More than anything," Brendon says. "Shut up and hand out some of those pins. If we get rid of them all I'll let you take my shirt off later on."

"That's blackmail," Spencer says, trying to fake being insulted. It doesn't work.

"Yes," Brendon agrees, handing him another shit-ton of fliers. "It is."

~*~

"Stop doing that and let me make out with you," Spencer complains, trying to push all of Brendon's papers out of the way so that he can get close enough to Brendon to make out with him.

"I'm busy," Brendon says, batting Spencer's hand away. "Stop that."

"I want to _make out_ ," Spencer says, petulantly. "Why won't you make out with me? Is it because you don't want to anymore? Are you breaking up with me?"

Brendon rolls his eyes. He picks up one pile of papers and waves it at Spencer. "Homework," he says, and picks up the other pile. "GSA stuff. I'm busy. Come back in an hour and then we can make out for fifteen minutes."

"Like when we were revising for our SATs," Spencer says, frowning. He knows this stuff is important and that Brendon is _happy_ \- even though he's nervous about Monday - and that he is still wearing his _my boyfriend's the flyhalf_ shirt whenever its clean, but that's not the point. The point is that Spencer has needs. He has _sexy needs_ , and this whole week Brendon has been too busy to attend to them.

"Just like that," Brendon says. "And if you want we can, you know, call each other up tonight." He blushes pink and bites his lip, and Spencer is suddenly overwhelmed by memories of that night, of Brendon saying _fingers_ in a halting, desperate voice, and all of a sudden he can't think of anything else.

"Yeah," Spencer says. "Yes please."

Brendon's eyes are bright. "Cool," he says. His hand wavers in the air for a moment, and then he leans over and grabs Spencer's hand, his palm hot. He squeezes, and Spencer squeezes back, and it feels like the air is slowly being sucked out of the room, and Spencer's attention is focusing down until there's nothing else in the world but him and Brendon and their joined hands.

Spencer thinks, _I love you_. He starts to smile, and Brendon echoes him, dropping his gaze for a moment before meeting Spencer's eyes again, his eyes sparkling.

"We've got to get on," Brendon says, sort of regretfully. "But maybe... if we get finished up quickly, we can go and make out in the park before dinner?"

Spencer grins. "You have the best ideas."

Brendon leans over and carefully pins another GSA pin to Spencer's t-shirt. There are four there now, in a cluster over by Spencer's shoulder. "Yes," he says, biting his lip and darting in to press a quick kiss to Spencer's cheek. "I really do."

~*~

Spencer can't wait until eleven o'clock. He fakes a yawn, ignoring his dad's raised eyebrows and the way his mom frowns when he gets up shortly after nine-thirty, when his sisters are still complaining about how they should get to stay up later now they're almost done with junior high, and tells everyone he's going to bed.

"Are you feeling okay?" his mom asks, suspiciously.

"Tired, you know," Spencer says. "'Night."

"Huh," his dad says, taking off his headphones. He has the big kind, the kind that go over his head like old radio DJs used to wear. His dad is so totally fucking weird. "Is something going on at school? Did something happen?"

"I'm just _tired_ ," Spencer lies, trying to hide the way his leg is jittering because if he can just get upstairs he can call Brendon to see if his mom and dad have gone to bed yet, and then they can jerk off together and it will be almost but not quite like having sex together.

"Do we need to have a talk?" his mom asks. Jackie and Crystal have taken their mom and dad's preoccupation with Spencer's _totally normal_ desire to have an early night as an excuse for them to sneak back to the TV, which is totally unfair.

"No," he says, firmly. "And Jackie and Crystal are watching TV again, look."

"Girls," their mom says. "Go get ready for bed. Do you think that I'm stupid?"

Spencer, Jackie and Crystal all roll their eyes.

"Don't answer that one," she says. "Upstairs, both of you. Spencer, you know you can come to us if something's going on, right? Your dad and I. We'll listen."

"Sure thing, Mom," Spencer lies. His sisters don't move from in front of the TV. His parents are the last people he's ever going to with any problem, ever.

"Nobody's saying anything about the Gay-Straight Alliance, right?" his dad asks. "Brendon's okay? You're okay?"

"Yes, Dad," Spencer says. "I'm fine." He thinks briefly about the assholes who have been scrawling stupid messages across some of their posters, and how it's likely that they have miserable lives and they will eventually die lonely and alone and eaten by hamsters. About the zero tolerance anti-bullying policy the principal and Mr. Vasquez and Ms. Elliot had gone on and on about in that weird school meeting in the gym they'd had yesterday, and how Mr. Vasquez had caught Brendon on the way out and asked if everything was okay. How there were more faculty members in the hallways in between classes and during lunch periods. Spencer isn't stupid. "Everything's under control," he says.

"Good," his mom says, steadily.

"Okay, now I'm going to bed," Spencer says, making a face, because it is really difficult not to think about jerking off with Brendon right now. He can feel himself starting to get turned on, and that isn't something he ever wants to do in a room with his parents. "I am totally tired and early nights are awesome. Night," he says, and heads up the stairs and into his bedroom without waiting for an answer from his parents.

He shuts his bedroom door tight behind him, and leans against it with a deep breath. He tips his head back against the door and breathes out slowly. _Okay,_ he thinks, and for a minute he busies himself putting all the stuff he needs for school in the morning into his backpack, and leaning it up against the wall by the door. He picks out a shirt for the morning, and then when he can't put it off any longer, he tugs his phone out of his pocket, just in case he's accidentally turned it off with the power of his mind and Brendon's been calling him but hasn't been able to get through. He hasn't.

Spencer takes off all of his clothes and spends a moment dividing them up into ones that need to go in his laundry basket and the ones he's going to wear again. He might be having sex - of a sort - in a few minutes, but that is no excuse for leaving his things in a mess. It's weirdly sexy to be naked in his bedroom, even with the lights off and the curtains drawn and the only light the glow from his R2D2 lamp on his nightstand. Heart beating fast, he squares his shoulders and picks up his phone, scrolling down until he hits Brendon's number. His palm is hot and sticky.

It rings out, two rings, three rings, five, six. Just when Spencer's wretchedly assuming that Brendon's broken up with him and doesn't ever want to have to have sex with him, Brendon answers the phone, breathless and rushed. "Hi," he says, "hang on."

"Huh," Spencer says. He subscribes to the Ryan Ross school of thought when it comes to phone calls, so he keeps talking even though Brendon isn't talking back. "You would not believe my mom and dad. They keep going on and on about how I can talk to them about anything, which is a total lie, since we'd all die of embarrassment before we got to the good stuff, and no one wants that. They're so weird, who wants their kids to talk to them anyway? They keep leaving college guides on my bed, like I even care where we're going unless it plays good rugby -"

"You still there?" Brendon says, breathlessly.

"Still here," Spencer says. "Just complaining about how weird my mom and dad are."

"I didn't hear," Brendon says, regretfully.

"It's okay," Spencer says, shrugging his shoulders. "It didn't matter."

"Good," Brendon says. There's a pause, and neither of them say anything.

"Are you -"

"Are we -"

Spencer shakes his head. "We're still doing this, right? Are your mom and dad in bed?"

"Yep," Brendon says. "Well, apparently they're 'reading in bed' and that had better not be a euphemism since I don't want to think about _that_."

Spencer wonders if Brendon's mom wears her big floppy hat when she's having sex. He has a mental image, which he would like to get rid of _now_. "I'm not wearing any clothes," he says. He flushes red. "I, uh. I took them off for you."

Brendon hisses in a breath. "Oh fuck," he says. "Hang on a sec, let me -" there's a rustling, and a bump, and Spencer stands awkwardly in his bedroom without any clothes on and his dick standing straight up, hard and flushed. He presses his shoulders back, puffing his chest out, and runs a hand down and across his stomach. "I came home and jerked off," Brendon confides, a second later. "I couldn't wait for tonight."

 _Nrgh_ , Spencer's brain manages. "Fuck."

"It's okay, right?" Brendon says. "That I get so, uh. Excited about this? You don't find it a turn off, or whatever?"

"Are you dumb," Spencer says. "You must be. I think you're the hottest thing ever, shut up. Are you naked?"

"Totally," Brendon says. "Apart from my socks. I still have my socks on."

"Take them off," Spencer says. "And tell me about jerking off earlier." He rocks his hips up a little, rubbing the tip of his cock against his closed fist.

Brendon lets out a breath. "I was thinking about last time," he says, in a rushed voice. "about what it sounded like when you, um. When you came. I keep thinking about it, Spence, over and over and over and it's totally fucking hot. I was imagining hearing it again, and I walked into the house and my mom yelled me and I had to go upstairs and lock myself in the bathroom so she didn't walk into the bedroom, and I jerked off into the sink."

"Into the sink?" Spencer asks, because that's the only part of what Brendon's saying that he can form into words without actually falling over and embarrassing himself.

"Yeah," Brendon says. "It was so quick, Spence. It took, like, a minute."

"Did you-" Spencer swallows back a groan as he gives in and curls his fingers around his dick. "Do you always play with your ass?" He speaks the last part so fast that the words run into each other.

Brendon makes a tight, bitten off noise. "Mostly," he says. "It feels really good."

"I thought about trying it," Spencer says, his face burning red. He faceplants into the bed, just because he's too embarrassed to talk for a second. "Last night, I sort of tried it. Touching, not—not fingering."

"Oh, fuck," Brendon says, in a high voice. "Did you - I don't know. Spence, tell me about it."

Spencer hides his face in the pillow for a moment. "Don't laugh," he warns.

"Couldn't if I tried," Brendon tells him. "Too busy being so turned on my brain's turned to mush."

"Mush, huh," Spencer tries for a laugh, but he can't manage it. He rests his phone on the pillow and shifts on to his side, just like he imagines Brendon was the last time they did this. It was easier last night, without the phone. "I, uh. I just touched it."

"Your ass?" Brendon asks, breathlessly. "Did you use any lube?"

"Spit," Spencer says, because he doesn't have any lube. Nor any condoms. He wonders if he and Brendon will need them, since they're both virgins and it's not like either of them are planning on getting pregnant any time soon. Asses are, uh, messy, though. He imagines. He doesn't _know_. He hates not knowing everything.

Brendon lets out a groan. "Then what?"

Spencer can't help himself. He spits on his fingers and reaches behind himself, sliding his palm down into the small of his back and then sneaking even further down, until he's rubbing at his asshole with the pad of his finger. It feels—it feels really fucking good.

"Spencer," Brendon prompts. "Then what."

"Feels really good, B," he says. He shifts on the sheets, trying to find the best position. He rolls onto his front, rocking his hips into the mattress, the odd, trapped feeling of his dick pressed up tight between his stomach and the sheets strangely hot. His breath catches as his finger rubs a little faster, a little harder, his hips rolling. He's humping the fucking mattress.

"Are you - are you doing it now?" Brendon asks, haltingly. He sounds almost like a stranger, his voice low and breathy.

"Just touching, yeah," Spencer admits, hiding his red face in the pillow.

"Oh fuck," Brendon manages. "That is so totally the hottest thing ever. Don't stop talking."

Spencer shifts, trying to figure out a way that feels best. He has to strain to reach around and touch his balls from this angle; but _fuck_ , he loves his balls. He doesn't get why every single other person in the world doesn't jerk off touching theirs, since they feel so fucking good. They're so sensitive and squeezing them and stroking them sends tiny frissons of heat all over his body until he's shuddering in breathless excitement. He needs more hands so he can touch himself everywhere. "Don't have enough hands," he says.

"Tell me where you want me to touch you," Brendon says. "When I'm with you, tell me what you want me to do."

"My _balls_ ," Spencer groans. "Fuck, I love touching them. I can't touch everything at once." He slides his hand back between his leg and contemplates pressing in with the tip of his middle finger. He lets out a tight, desperate breath, but doesn't. "I haven't, I don't know. I haven't touched _inside_."

"Oh god," Brendon says. "I want to be there, I want to be there, I want to be there. I'll finger you," he says, breathlessly. "I'll jerk you off and touch your balls and finger your ass. I'll do it all, anything you want."

"I want _you_ ," Spencer says, and he gives up trying to figure out fingering himself in favor of rolling over and jerking off, his knees bent and his hips rocking up as he tries to fuck his own fist. One day he's going to finish what he started a while earlier and hump the fucking mattress while he fingers himself until he comes, but that time is not this time. "Oh god, I want you." His voice sounds broken and hoarse and he thinks he might die if he can't kiss Brendon right the fuck _now_ , but he can hear the breathless, desperate pants as Brendon gets himself off at the other end of the phone.

"Soon," Brendon says. "Soon it's going to be just the two of us and it's going to be totally fucking _awesome_."

"Best thing ever," Spencer agrees, and he can't get the image of Brendon naked in front of him out of his mind, the way that Brendon's skin had looked so inviting and amazing and how he wants to get on his knees for him and figure out how blow jobs go. "I want it to be now."

"Can't stop thinking about you," Brendon admits. "All the time, it's all you. Always."

"Me too," Spencer admits, and he's so close. He can't believe that he's going to come thinking about Brendon, always. He fucks up into his fist, thumb sweeping a stripe across the tip of his cock and it's almost too much. He feels so close to Brendon right now. "Oh, fuck, Brendon," he says. "I'm going to come."

"Me too," Brendon says. "Gonna come, going to come."

"B -" Spencer manages, and then he's coming, spilling across his fist and his chest, breathlessly tipping his head back and closing his eyes, his heart beat a loud, rapid thump inside his chest. He listens as Brendon beats off, the final few seconds as he pants into the phone, and then Spencer hears as he comes, a tight, bitten-off whine and Spencer's name.

It's still the hottest thing that Spencer's ever heard in his whole entire life.

It's a minute before they speak again. Spencer's getting comfortable just listening to the way Brendon's breathing evens out at the end of the phone.

"So," Brendon says, breaking the silence. "How was that for you?"

Spencer breaks into a surprised laugh. "It was good," he says, after a moment. "Perfect. Amazing."

Brendon lets out a soft huff of breath, and Spencer imagines him smiling. "Same for me," he says.

"Wish you were here," Spencer says, softly.

"Me too," Brendon agrees. "But soon, right? When it feels right."

"It's feeling pretty right to me now," Spencer says.

"Yeah?" There's the rustle of sheets from the other end of the phone and Spencer imagines Brendon getting comfortable, pulling the covers up.

Spencer tests the part of his brain that had held them back the last time, the mental block that hadn't seemed to want to jump from making out to doing it. It doesn't feel like such a big, insurmountable chasm anymore. It doesn't even feel like a wall. "I think so," he says. "I feel ready."

"You're not just saying that?" Brendon says, doubtfully. "Because you think I want to hear it?"

Spencer shrugs. He's picking at a spot of drying come on his stomach. It gets under his fingernail. "I don't know," he admits. "It feels different to last time, though. I feel different. Ready."

Brendon lets out a breath. "We're not doing it unless you're sure," he says. "We're not rushing this."

"I know," Spencer says. "And you're the best for putting up with me not putting out." He flushes a little red at just how much of a loser he turned out to be, but he steadfastly does not hide his face in the pillow, not even a little bit. "But honestly. I think I'm ready."

"Awesome," Brendon says, steadily. "Let's have sex."

"Yes," Spencer says, and his heart beat speeds up in anticipation of getting to be that close to Brendon. At getting to be officially no longer a virgin. "We'll launch the Gay-Straight Alliance and bring about social change, and then we will have sex."

Brendon laughs. "I love it when you get all hot and bothered and revolutionary," he says.

"I know," Spencer says, in satisfaction. He has figured this out about Brendon over the past couple of weeks.

Brendon waits a moment before speaking again. "You think we did the right thing? Starting the GSA? You think it's going to be a success?"

"Yes," Spencer says, without even thinking about it. It doesn't matter how stupid he thought the GSA was at the start, now that they've gotten it started Spencer is determined for it to do well. "It's going to be amazing."

"Like you," Brendon says, softly, and Spencer feels his cheeks pink. He pulls up the sheets, covering himself up.

"Like _you_ , you mean," he says, and Brendon huffs out a soft laugh.

He feels really, ridiculously, lucky to have Brendon.

~*~

Spencer is surprised by how nervous he is when Monday rolls around. It's not even like the kind of weird, adrenaline-fuelled nervousness he gets before a rugby match, the kind that rolls around in his belly until he feels like he's going to throw up, the kind that dissipates the moment he gets on the pitch and the whistle blows. This is different, this is the kind of anxiety that makes Spencer sleep badly and wake up bad-tempered and nervous.

"It's going to be great," his mom says, putting a mug of coffee down in front of Spencer at the table and nudging an empty cereal bowl across the table. The twins' dirty bowls are stacked by the dishwasher already; they had an early morning meeting at their junior high, and have already left, loudly bickering when Spencer just wanted quiet. "Eat something. It'll settle your stomach."

"My stomach's fine," Spencer says, grouchily, because he feels kind of sick and a lot like he doesn't want to go into school today.

"Okay," his mom says. "Eat it just to stop me bugging you, then."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "There's only one of me, you know," he says, pointing at the other empty bowl on the table.

"Yeah, yeah," his mom says, taking another gulp of her coffee. "Like Ryan isn't going to turn up any minute now demanding breakfast. You think I don't know either of you."

"Ryan has his own house, you know, Mom," Spencer says. "He has breakfast there."

"The two of you are my own special hobbits," his mom says. "Like you both won't eat two helpings of breakfast if you can get away with it. Second breakfast is normal with you two."

"Hmmm," Spencer says, tipping the best part of a box of Froot Loops into his bowl. "Ryan has his own boyfriend now, you know. He can have second breakfast with _him_." Ryan's been so busy with his secret leaving gift for Jon that Spencer's barely seen him.

"You're cute when you're jealous," his mom says, standing up and heading over to the coffee machine to top up her mug. "Shall I leave this for Ryan or will he be happy to wait for a fresh pot once he gets here?"

"I don't even know if he's coming over," Spencer says, grumpily. "It's not like he tells me anything anymore."

His mom rolls her eyes. "I've taken the afternoon off work," she says, "so I'll meet you out front of school at one thirty, and then we can go to your knee doctor."

Spencer drops his spoon. "What?" he says.

"Your knee doctor," his mom repeats. "We've been through this, Spencer. Check-up appointment with your doctor? We arranged for you to miss school this afternoon?"

"That's today?" Spencer asks, his stomach dropping. "It can't be today, it's GSA day. Brendon will _kill me_. He's so nervous he hasn't slept. He's called me three times this morning asking me what he should wear."

"We'll be back in time for the meeting," his mom says. "I thought we had this all figured out. I _knew_ you weren't listening. That's the _last time_ I let you tell me you're paying attention when you're sitting in front of that computer."

"Mom, I can't go," he says, desperately. "I can't miss this. It's _Brendon,_ Mom. We're going to have to call and cancel."

"You can't," his mom says. "I can't take another afternoon off work. You need to go. We'll get you back to school in time for the GSA, don't you worry."

"Brendon is going to _freak_ ," Spencer says, and he means it. This is the worst thing he could have heard right now. Brendon is a mess, nervous and unsure, worried that his club is going to fail and that everything's going to stay the same, even after all this time and all of the fliers and all of the dogged determination Spencer's shown in getting the rugby team in on it.

"I'm sorry," his mom says. "We'll get you back to school as soon as we can. You won't miss the start."

"I might," Spencer says, miserably. Brendon will _kill_ him if that's the case. He really wants to be there, and not just because Brendon's his boyfriend and he wants to support him, but because he actually wants to _go._

"Cheer up," Ryan says, coming in. "It might never happen. Hey," he says, to Spencer's mom. He's stopped calling her _Mrs. Smith_ , but it's almost like he can't bring himself to call her _Ginger_ , either.

"How'd you get in?" Spencer asks, sliding the empty bowl down the table to where Ryan's already sitting down and reaching for the cereal box.

"Your dad," Ryan says, tipping out the rest of the froot loops into his bowl. "Why's he skulking out there and not in here?"

"He's skulking?" Spencer asks.

"We had a fight," Spencer's mom says, lightly. "Apparently your dad seems to think that The Rolling Stones are better than The Beatles. All of these years we've been married, and _this_ is when I find out he's been wrong all this time?"

"You're so weird," Spencer says. "It's a wonder I turned out so well when you two are such freaks."

"Urgh," his mom says, standing up. "I'd better go force him to change his mind. Or fight some more. Nothing starts the day better than fighting over things that are really, stupidly important before I've finished my second cup of coffee."

Ryan wraps his foot around Spencer's under the table. "Hey," Ryan says, softly. "You okay?"

"No," Spencer says. "This is going to be a really shitty day, the GSA is the worst idea in the world and now I have to skip this afternoon so I can go see the stupid knee doctor to make sure my knee is okay and Brendon is going to _freak_."

"What's up with your knee?" Ryan asks.

"Nothing," Spencer says indignantly. "It's just some stupid check-up appointment that my mom won't cancel, what the fuck."

In the hallway, Spencer can hear his mom and dad fighting, and he shivers, remembering that time when he was nine and his mom slept in the spare room for six months after his parents had gotten in a fight about Spencer's report card. In his head, he knows that whatever fight his mom and dad were in for all that time wasn't actually about his report card, but occasionally he'll hear his mom and dad in an argument and remember what it was like afterwards, when he and his sisters kept asking _but why_ , and neither of his parents would answer them.

He kicks Ryan in the ankle. "What's up with you, anyway? I thought you'd forgotten who I was, you were so loved up."

"Says you," Ryan retorts. "You've spent the last week making stupid GSA stuff, it's not my fault you're too busy to have time for me."

"You've spent the whole week doing that stupid thing for Jon, it's not my fault you're too stupid to spend time with _me_."

"My leaving gift will be the best leaving gift," Ryan says, lightly. He curls his foot around Spencer's again, and stares down at his bowl.

Spencer lets out a breath. "You'll see him all the time, Ry." He nudges him with his elbow. "Are you going to tell me what you're making for him yet? Is it still a secret?"

"He's going to meet _college kids_ ," Ryan says. "You know how much better than me college kids are? _Better_."

"You know how crazy Jon is about you?" Spencer says, after a moment. "Crazy enough that he isn't going to pick some stupid college kid over you, that's how. So, you're going to show me what you're making, right?"

"Sometime," Ryan says, despondently. "His band have written a song for the GSA. You know how awesome that is? The most awesome."

Spencer sort of disagrees, since he's heard the last song that Jon's band wrote and sung at one of the rugby parties. He wasn't sure of the title but from what he could understand it boiled down to _my cat is great and soon I will have a dog_. But Jon's band is popular and Jon is a good guy, so Spencer will keep his opinion to himself for a change. "Cool," he lies, since Ryan looks decidedly sad.

"It is, isn't it," Ryan says, sadly.

"Yeah," Spencer says, still lying. "Mom left the remains of the coffee for you."

"I love your mom," Ryan says. "Do you think she still hates me for dating a guy?"

"Only as much as she hates me," Spencer says. He ignores the way that makes his chest hurt. Even though his mom is really supportive about the GSA and never says anything about Brendon and Spencer not being the best couple the world has ever seen, she is still a little awkward about Spencer being gay. He doesn't feel like finishing his cereal now. He's tired of having to _try_ all the time. He wants it to be easy.

When he stands up, his mom is in the doorway, looking pale. Spencer hopes she hadn't overheard him and Ryan talking; sometimes the fact that his sexuality is like the elephant in the room that they don't talk about is actually a good thing, because it means that they don't have to have horrifying, scarring conversations like the one he had with his dad about sex.

"You left the remains of the coffee for Ryan, right, Mom?" he says.

"Yes," she says, still looking a bit weird.

"Did Dad and The Rolling Stones win?" Spencer says, sympathetically. "You've got to get with the twenty-first century," he goes on. "I'm pretty sure Ryan has a Ke$ha album he could lend you."

"That is such a lie," Ryan says, loudly. "Oh my god, that is such a lie."

Spencer shrugs. "Sometimes you've just got to wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy," he says.

"Why are you _such a dick_ ," Ryan says. "Sorry, uh, Ginger." His cheeks are faintly pink.

"I don't even know what you boys are talking about," his mom says, and for once, Spencer isn't even sure she's listening to them. Spencer wonders if she did overhear.

"Tik tok." Spencer pushes his chair back and stands up. "We're going to Hit. This. City _._ "

Ryan rolls his eyes and knocks back the rest of his mug of coffee. He checks his watch. "If you hurry up you might have time to brush your teeth with a bottle of Jack."

" _Ha_ ," Spencer says loudly, ignoring the way his heart is thumping. "I _knew_ you knew that song. You're such a liar. All this time you were telling me off for having bad taste and you liked it all along."

"And we're going to be late," Ryan says, shooting Spencer's mom a sidelong glance. "Come on, get your bike."

"I'll see you outside school at one thirty," Spencer's mom says, a little awkwardly. "And don't worry, we'll get you back in time for your meeting."

"You'd better," Spencer says. "Otherwise Brendon is going to dump me and I wouldn't blame him for it either." He makes finger guns at his mom and sings, "When I leave for sch-ool, I ain't coming back."

"I am disowning you both," Spencer's mom says, shaking her head. "Go on, off to school, the pair of you."

"We kick 'em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger," Spencer yells, pushing Ryan out of the front door.

"Disowned," Spencer's mom yells back, and Spencer grins, pushing Ryan's bike over as he grabs his own.

~*~

"I thought you weren't going to show," Brendon says breathlessly, clinging on to Spencer's shirt. "I thought you were going to miss it."

"Never," Spencer says, loudly, wrapping his arms around Brendon's shoulders and pressing a kiss to Brendon's temple. His heart's beating fast from having to race across the parking lot to get to the drama classroom in time for the start of the GSA meeting; his mom probably isn't speaking to him because he'd yelled at her the whole journey from the doctor's office to here because she'd _promised_ him he'd make it on time and then they hadn't. They'd been kept late at the doctor's office and Spencer had had to count the seconds off on his watch and call Ryan to make sure he knew exactly what he had to do in order that Brendon be supported if Spencer couldn't get there on time. He'd sent Brendon text after text, and it had almost been for nothing after he'd made his mom run a red light and they'd thought they'd heard sirens in the distance. But he'd gotten here, gotten back to school in time for the meeting to start, and he's early enough that he can wrap his arms around Brendon's neck in the hallway outside the drama classroom, and just hold on.

"I am not going to forgive you for being late," Brendon says, mock-severely, and Spencer knows that underneath the jest Brendon means it. "You are still almost-dumped."

"I am _sorry_ ," he apologizes, because he'd _tried_. He'd really fucking tried to get here on time. "Next time I'll skip the doctor's appointment."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "You will not," he says. "If you're going to be a famous professional rugby player then you need all your knees in working order, thank you."

"Yes, okay," Spencer says, rolling his eyes right back. "I'll re-make the appointment instead. I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier, okay? I'm sorry. Did you get set up okay?"

"Ryan helped," Brendon says, and Spencer snorts.

"Really?"

"Really," Brendon says. "Well, he commented on stuff. And tried the peanuts."

"That's my boy," Spencer says, proudly. "Hey, when we're done implementing social change we can make out all the time, right?"

"Sure," Brendon says, and curls into Spencer's side. "This is going to go okay, right? It's not going to be a total fucking joke?"

"Best club on campus," Spencer says confidently, and not just because he's paid Zack to make sure that everything goes okay.

"Awesome," Brendon says. "It's just like going on stage for a play, right? I'm going to step up there, do my shit, not get booed, the end."

"You forgot 'implement social change' and 'be a really hot revolutionary'," Spencer says, dropping a kiss to Brendon's forehead. He adjusts Brendon's _Beyond the Binary_ pin and slides his hand into Brendon's. "It'll be excellent," he says. Brendon's hand is hot and sweaty. "Don't worry."

"Are you boys ready?" Ms. Elliot asks, sticking her head out of the door. "I think it's time to start."

"Ready," Brendon says, stealing a glance at Spencer. Spencer grins at him, pretending like he isn't nervous.

"Ready," Spencer says, and Ms. Elliot nods and turns around, clapping her hands and motioning for silence. Spencer and Brendon sneak inside and take their seats in the front row so that Ms. Elliot can introduce them both and Brendon can start to talk.

~*~

"That was _awesome_ ," Spencer says afterwards, pushing through the crowds of people taking advantage of the free sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies. "Awesome, awesome, awesome."

Brendon is _beaming_. "Oh my god, Spence," he says, in excitement. "Oh my god, did you see the part where they voted me club president? I've never been voted anything, ever, and now I'm _president_."

"That is because you are the best person in the world," Spencer says, then pauses. "Uh, Brendon? There's a sophomore hanging off your shirt."

"This is Ian," Brendon says, excitedly. "He wants some of our pins. And a poster. And to say hi."

"Hi," Spencer says, crossly. "Do you need something?"

"He's an ally," Brendon says. "An Alliance ally. How awesome is that?"

"Awesome," Ian echoes, brightly. The kid is one hundred percent _hair_. It's so wide Spencer wonders how he gets through the classroom doors.

"That's great," Spencer says. "Brendon's my boyfriend."

"I know," Ian says, tugging off his backpack, which turns out to be a Yoda-shaped backpack with hands that turn into straps. It looks like Yoda is having a piggy-back ride on Ian's back. It's both totally awesome and the most ridiculous thing Spencer's ever seen in his whole entire life. "That's my cousin over there," Ian says, pointing vaguely in the general direction of another kid with a slightly less ridiculous amount of hair, this time clutching a camera and wearing a ridiculous knitted hat. He's taking a picture of the Powerpoint slide that Brendon's left up on the projector, the one that says _our school should be a SAFE SPACE!!!_ "He takes pictures for the newspaper, but sometimes he lets me develop his pictures in journalism class. I developed this one he took of you two after the game. You want to see?"

"Huh," Spencer says, leaning over. "Really?"

"Really," Ian says. "Look."

"Oh my god," Spencer says. The picture must have been taken after the rugby game on Friday night, because Brendon is wearing Spencer's letter jacket and his _my boyfriend's the flyhalf_ shirt, and he's laughing and Spencer's grinning, one hand on Brendon's hip, looking straight into Brendon's eyes. It's a really nice picture. "This is totally creepy. This is like when Ryan thought he had that crazy psycho stalker."

"That turned out to be Jon," Brendon reminds him, tracing Spencer's letter jacket with his finger. "This is an awesome picture."

"I made you a copy each," Ian says, brightly.

"Are you trying to buy our love?" Spencer asks suspiciously. "Because Brendon is not for sale. And neither am I."

"Shush," Brendon says, elbowing him in the side. "Take the gift. It's an awesome picture, Ian."

"We have to have him ejected," Ryan says loudly, coming over and folding his arms. "He's being weird."

"Who?" Spencer asks, still holding his hand out for Ian's picture. "Who's being weird?"

"Shane Valdez," Ryan says, pointing at Ian's cousin in the knitted cap. "He's from the school newspaper. I thought you said the arts magazine was the official Alliance paper? Tell him he has to go and stop taking pictures. Jon's taking pictures for the arts magazine already."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "I can't _stop him_ , Ryan."

"Next you'll be saying that Jon's song isn't your official anthem," Ryan says, petulantly. "And that I'm not your best friend anymore."

"You're not having your best friend charm back," Spencer says, frowning. "You gave that to me."

Brendon grins. "I'm going over there," he says, pointing over to where one of the rugby team, Dallon Weekes, is looking vaguely awkward and waving at him.

"I'm coming too," Spencer says, because even though he's fairly sure Dallon knows that Spencer is Brendon's boyfriend, he is relatively new to the rugby team and it's worth checking just to make sure he knows that Brendon's not available. "And you need to come too," he says, poking Ian in his Yoda backpack. "You have awesome pictures of me and Brendon. We can use them to show people he's my boyfriend."

"What about me?" Ryan complains.

"You can come too," Spencer says, kindly, "but we're still not ejecting the school newspaper from the room."

Brendon shakes his head. "You," he says, poking Spencer in the chest. "Go and talk to people about how awesome the Gay Straight Alliance is. Make sure they're going to come back next week, and in the new year. Put your power to good use. And give out pins." He makes a face at Ryan. "You, go and take lots of notes and get quotes from everyone saying how they're going to make this school inclusive and amazing. Make Jon take pictures of people in their pins. And you," he says, turning to Ian, "you are awesome and we're keeping you. And—"

"And make sure everyone gets a pin, I get it." Ian grins, and scoops up a tray of Alliance pins. Half of them say, _I'm not gay, but I'm totally an ally!_ over the top of a picture of a rainbow. They'd made tons of those after Spencer's experience with the rugby team but surprisingly, it's been the other pins that have been more popular.

Brendon darts in and presses a kiss to Spencer's cheek. "Go on," he says, "be awesome."

"I like it when you're all masterful," Spencer says, grinning. "Hey, Dallon!" he calls. "Brendon's mine, so hands off, okay?"

Dallon rolls his eyes. "You think there's a single person in this entire school who doesn't know you two are dating?" he says, which, well, okay.

"Hmm," Spencer says, and Dallon pulls a face, waving him away. He plasters a smile on his face and plucks a tray of pins off the table so he can start handing them out and making sure everyone is signed up for the new academic year. "Hi," he says, turning around and grabbing the first girl he sees. "Do you have a pin?"

~*~

"Hey, Spence," Brendon says, waving him over. "Dallon has this _awesome_ idea for the GSA."

"Uh-huh," Spencer says, dumping his empty box of pins back on the table. He narrows his eyes. "What?"

"It's _awesome_ ," Brendon says. "And this is Shane. Say hi."

"Hi," Spencer says. Over Shane's shoulder, Ryan folds his arms and looks grumpy. Spencer makes a face at him. "Come over here and cover this conversation for the arts magazine," he says. "Ryan! Stop ignoring me. Brendon says Dallon's idea is awesome. That means you can put it in the magazine. It's the official GSA magazine," he says, loudly. "Hi, Shane. I met your cousin. He does awesome photo developing."

"Cool," Shane says, nodding.

"Cool," Spencer echoes, as Ryan turns up, Jon in tow, camera in hand. Spencer slings an arm around Ryan's shoulder. "So, Brendon says you've had an awesome idea, Dallon."

"Yeah," Dallon says. "So, the Science club is having a dance—"

"Awesome," Spencer says. Ryan kicks him in the shin. "I bet that's popular."

"Yes, well," Dallon says. "Maybe people didn't get the title or something."

"The title's great," Brendon says, quickly, unrolling a poster. It says _Schrodinger's Dance: There's a dance in the gym, but is it alive or dead?_

"I don't get it," Spencer says, after a moment, tilting his head to one side.

"Maybe other people just don't know about maybe dead cats," Dallon says, miserably. "I thought it was cool."

"Huh," Spencer says. Ryan kicks him again.

"So, anyway," Dallon says. "I was thinking. Maybe, I don't know, we could join forces and share the dance. We have the gym booked and the food and the drink and the decorations, but, uh, not many people coming."

"Dead cats," Jon mutters. Ryan kicks him, too.

"We're going to have a joint dance," Brendon says, excitedly. "A GSA dance, Spence, isn't that awesome? Everyone's going to know about us. We can have rainbow decorations and everyone can dance together and it'll be _great_."

"Wow," Spencer says, as everyone starts talking at once. That actually _is_ a great idea. "That's pretty cool," he says.

"And people will come to my dance," Dallon says, in relief. "Thank fuck."

"Dead cats," Jon mutters, mutinously.

"The cats aren't _actually dead_ ," Dallon says, hotly. "The point is you can't tell if they're dead without lifting up the lid."

Everybody makes a face.

"I'll email you the Wikipedia link," Dallon says, in a small voice.

"This is going to be the best dance ever," Brendon says, excitedly, hooking his hand through Spencer's arm. "Our club is going to be _awesome_."

"Well," Spencer says, blushing a little. "You're awesome, so."

Brendon stands up on his tip-toes and kisses Spencer on the temple. "So are you," he says, and grins.

~*~

"I'm going to be late to class," Brendon complains on the following Monday morning as Spencer presses him up against the wall in the stairwell, kissing him again.

"Kissing beats math," Spencer says, which is definitely not a lie, except for how he really likes math kind of a lot. He just likes kissing Brendon _more_.

"Kissing doesn't beat _detention,_ " Brendon points out, but he doesn't pull away, not even as Spencer sneaks a hand under the hem of his t-shirt and strokes the small of his back. Spencer just loves touching him. He wants to touch him _forever_.

"Class sucks," Spencer says, reluctantly giving up kissing Brendon in favor of straightening his shirt a little.

"It does," Brendon agrees. "Hey, I left something in your locker, you should go check."

"Now?" Spencer asks, already taking the steps two at a time.

" _No_ ," Brendon says, grabbing his shirt. "Now it's class time. Locker time later."

"You're such a slave driver," Spencer complains, jumping back down the steps and sliding his hands down Brendon's sides as the tardy bell rings.

"You love it," Brendon says happily, and lets Spencer kiss him another three times before they have to run to class.

~*~

Brendon has left him a box full of candy and gummy worms in his locker. The box is full of Spencer's favorites, candy hearts and cherry lips and love hearts. He eats the one that says, _Date me?_ first, then quickly adds _be mine_ and _hot stuff_ so he's crunching all three all at the same time. There's even a cartoon frog dancing a waltz drawn on the side of the homemade box, which Spencer loves. He rubs a thumb over the yellow magic-markered crown perched at a jaunty angle on the frog's head, and grins, stuffing a handful of gummy worms and cherry lips into his pocket so he can eat them during class.

His boyfriend is the _best_.

~*~

"So?" Brendon asks, dropping down in the seat next to Spencer's at lunchtime.

"So what?" Spencer asks, sneaking a tater tot onto Brendon's plate. He always likes to save one for Brendon, because sharing is the key to ensuring a long and fruitful relationship.

Brendon narrows his eyes. "Didn't you like your gift?" he asks, slowly.

"Sure," Spencer says, brightly. "You make the best candy gift baskets ever."

"...Yes?" Brendon says, slowly. There is something about this conversation that Spencer isn't getting, but he doesn't exactly know which part. Luckily Dallon, Ian, Zack and Jon look equally confused. Ryan has an arts magazine meeting so it's just them for lunch, and before Brendon turned up they were having some weird conversation that Spencer didn't understand. Spencer hates eating lunch without Ryan, there's nobody for him to kick under the table and make fun of. He'd expected more talk about rugby, what with both Dallon and Zack taking up residence at their table and being on the team with him, but it turns out they have _outside interests_ , which is just boring.

"Yes?" Spencer says. "It was awesome. Thank you." He leans over and kisses Brendon on the cheek. "You're the best boyfriend."

"Oh," Brendon says, a little sadly. Spencer's brow furrows. He does not get this at all.

"I saved you a tater tot," Spencer says, pointing at Brendon's plate. Brendon moves it around with his fork.

"Awesome," Brendon says, and Spencer wonders what he's done wrong.

~*~

"Hey, so Jon says that Brendon says he doesn't have a date to the dance," Ryan says on Tuesday morning, flopping down onto Spencer's bed and elbowing him in the side. "Why aren't you ready for school? We're going to be late."

"What," Spencer says, spinning around on his office chair. He's trying to print his homework off for first period, but it suddenly feels a lot like the bottom's dropped out of his world. "Why would he say that? Is he dumping me?"

"I don't know," Ryan says, lazily. "Maybe he's gotten tired of you _always being late for school_ , what the fuck."

"I'm _coming_ ," Spencer says, stuffing his papers into his backpack as they spool off his printer tray. "Why would Brendon say he doesn't have a date? He's going with me."

"Who knows," Ryan says, sitting up and downing the rest of Spencer's coffee from the mug with a giant wasp on the side on Spencer's nightstand. "You have really ugly mugs."

"That's my rugby mug," Spencer says, abstractedly. He's fumbling with his phone but he doesn't know how to text _are you breaking up with me_ and have it work out okay. "It's from London. You know what's awesome about London? They have rugby teams. Like, more than one. I'm going to move there and play for them one day."

"Brendon will be pleased about that," Ryan says.

"Brendon is going to _dump me_ ," Spencer says, wretchedly, "and I don't know what I've _done_." He tries to think over the past few days to see if there's anything he's forgotten or anything he's said that would lead Brendon to tell Jon that they weren't going to the Gay-Straight Alliance and Science Club dance together, but he can't think of _anything_. He and Brendon have been busy making fun of Ryan's attempts to put together an outfit for prom on Saturday, and busy making even more posters for the Schrodinger's Dance on Friday, and making banners that say, _Tolerance, Acceptance and Dignity_ which is apparently the new byline for the Alliance. They hung out at the ice cream parlor and made out by the swings in the park until some mom who obviously had forgotten what it was like to be young and have fun came and asked them to move so she could put her toddler in the swing seat. That sucked. They made out in the mall while Ryan tried on outfit after outfit, and were removed from Hot Topic for being lewd in the t-shirt aisle. They played _top-half-only_ on the couch in Spencer's living room, until Jackie went and complained to Spencer's mom about how noisy they were being and how gross it was that Spencer had his hand up Brendon's shirt. They have been _totally normal_ and Spencer is _still getting dumped_. This is because he won't put out, he's sure. He feels like he's ready to, almost, and what with the phone sex they've been having he feels even closer to Brendon than he has done ever before, so he doesn't know what he's done to warrant being _dumped._

Ryan checks his fingernails. "We're going to be late," he says, "and you haven't asked me what I'm doing for Jon's leaving gift for a whole _day_ now. It's like you don't care."

"I don't," Spencer lies. "I'm getting dumped. I'm going to have my heart broken and it's going to _suck_."

Ryan makes a face. Spencer rolls his eyes and grabs his backpack and pushes Ryan out of his bedroom door. "Tell me, then, since I'm going to have to take an unhealthy interest in your relationship now mine is _broken and dead_."

"He is not going to break up with you," Ryan says. "It would be like Beauty divorcing the Beast, and that would make a crappy sequel."

Spencer blinks. "Am I Beauty or the Beast here, because either way I think I'm offended. Yellow is so not my color. And that movie is totally shitty at the cool friends."

"She makes friends with a _clock_ ," Ryan says, significantly. "And a candlestick. And a stupid cup."

"Yeah, and none of them are birds or _mice_ ," Spencer says. "I want like, my own mice. In t-shirts. Mice in shirts. I could get into that."

Ryan snorts. "Whatever, you were the Beast, anyway. You're always the Beast. Mice in t-shirts, what the fuck," he says, loudly. Then, apropos of _nothing at all,_ "I told you your porn was weird."

"Go back to talking about Disney," Spencer's mom calls, coming out of the kitchen and shrugging on her jacket. "I like it when you talk about Disney. I don't have to think about therapy if you're talking about Disney." She grabs her keys off the side table, ignoring Spencer and Ryan's twin faces of horror.

"I thought you'd gone already," Spencer says, and thinks, _this is what dying feels like_.

"Going now," she says. "Hey, do you remember when the two of you used to dress up as Jasmine and Aladdin? Those were some good times. You used to fight over that tiny vest."

"No," Spencer and Ryan say, in unison. "That never happened."

"I could show Brendon the pictures next time he comes over," she says, waving Spencer out of the way so she can hurry out of the front door, yelling, "Jackie! Crystal! If the two of you aren't downstairs in the next five seconds I am leaving without you."

Jackie and Crystal thunder downstairs like a crowd of loud, arguing elephants.

"Well," Spencer says, burying his face in his hands as the door closes behind them all, Jackie and Crystal making faces at him through the glass, "that wasn't embarrassing or anything."

"Well," Ryan says, grinning. "At least she doesn't know what you've _actually_ got in that porn folder."

Spencer blushes bright red and pushes out of the door and onto the driveway. "We'll be late," he says, loudly, and ignores Ryan laughing at him.

~*~

Spencer spends the whole of the bike ride into school trying to figure out what he did wrong and why Brendon isn't going to the dance with him. Is he going with someone else? Does he like someone else better than he likes Spencer? "Is Brendon dumping me for someone else?" he asks Ryan, pumping his brakes a little as they freewheel down the hill towards school. "Is that it?"

"No," Ryan says, his legs straight out to the side like a crooked stick insect as he freewheels down the hill in front of Spencer. "I can't believe we're still having this stupid conversation. Can we talk about me some more? Don't you want to know what I'm making for Jon's leaving present?"

"No," Spencer lies. "If I am broken-hearted and alone and no one will ever love me again then you can tell me _then_."

"I'm making him a summer in a box," Ryan says proudly, as if Spencer had never spoken. "All of the awesome things we're not doing this summer, I'm putting them in a box."

Spencer makes a face. "You are so weird," he says.

"Weird and awesome," Ryan says.

"I'm getting dumped," Spencer says, morosely, and doesn't brake for any of the kids getting off the bus by the school gates. "Flyhalf coming through," he yells, and some of the kids cheer and fist pump the air. Being the star rugby player is awesome, he thinks, sadly, and he skids around the corner into the parking lot.

Brendon isn't waiting for him by the bike racks, so Spencer half-heartedly threads his lock through his wheel spokes and sets off at a run for Brendon's locker, ignoring Ryan's half-hearted shouts for him to wait up. If he is getting dumped then he needs to know _now_ , then he can go and punch a wall and hide from everybody for the rest of the day.

He spots Brendon by his locker and all of a sudden, he can't help himself. "Oh my god," he says, loudly. "Are you going to the dance with someone else now? Is that it? Do I need to punch somebody? Ryan says that Jon says that you don't have a date. What about me?"

Brendon makes a face, and stuffs the rest of his books into his locker, grabbing his notebook and a pen. "No," he says, "I don't have a date. You know why I don't have a date? You know what helps? Someone _asking me to go with them_. Or saying yes when I ask _them,_ either of those things work."

Spencer stops, and mouths like a fish in the middle of the hallway. "I thought -" he manages, since he has not asked Brendon to go with him to the dance. He had thought it was _obvious_ they were going together.

"No, it is _not obvious_ ," Brendon says, equally loudly. "Sometimes you have to _fucking ask_."

"Oh," Spencer says, deflating. " _Oh_. Well." He shrugs. "Will you come to the dance with me, Brendon?" he asks, rolling his eyes.

"No," Brendon says, and stomps off to class.

 _Well_ , Spencer thinks, making a face at the whispering cheerleaders hovering by their lockers. _Crap_.

~*~

"I need your help," Spencer says, grabbing Ryan's arm the moment he comes out of his first period class.

Ryan startles. "What are you even doing here?" he asks. "Don't you have classes of your own to loiter outside of?"

"Brendon says that I didn't ask him to the dance," Spencer says, quickly.

"You didn't," Ryan says.

"Yes, well," Spencer says, folding his arms. "He didn't ask me either."

"He left you a box full of candy in your locker," Ryan says. "There were cherry lips. And a card that said _be my date_. What did you want, a fucking drum parade?"

Spencer's eyes light up.

"No fucking way," Ryan says, shaking his head firmly. "You are not having a drum parade."

"I fucking am," Spencer says. "Oh my god. I'm going to _make him_ say yes."

"Nothing says romance like forcing someone to say yes," Ryan says, dryly.

Spencer makes a face. "Shut up, that's awful. I didn't mean that. I'd never -"

"I know, I know," Ryan says. "Shut up." He folds his arms. "So, if I help you make some stupid fucking gesture so that Brendon will make heart-eyes at you again, will you listen to me tell you about Jon's leaving gift?"

"Deal," Spencer lies. "You can talk to me as much as you want about whatever, I won't even care."

"Charmed," Ryan says, dryly.

"You know you are," Spencer says. "Right, do you want to see to the music or the costume?"

~*~

"Oh god," Spencer says, "this is going to be so embarrassing."

"Good," Ryan says, in satisfaction. "Put the hat on."

"I don't need the hat," Spencer says. "The hat makes me look stupid."

"The hat is the _least_ of your problems, Spence."

Spencer thinks that Ryan is enjoying this whole Spencer making a spectacle of himself thing way too much. It was a last minute thing, okay, it is not his fault that the only costume Ms. Elliot had to hand in his size was fucking _Robin Hood_. The hat even had a feather in it, and Spencer was less worried about the fact that the hat made his face look stupid than he was about the fact he was about to hit the hallways in a pair of _green tights_.

"What even _is_ this plan, Spence?" Ryan asks.

"If I totally humiliate myself," Spencer says gamely, "then Brendon will feel sorry for me and come to the dance with me. Right?"

"Sometimes I worry about what goes on in that tiny brain of yours," Ryan says, heaving a long-suffering sigh as he fiddles with Spencer's hat, trying to get it to either sit right or rest at its most embarrassing angle. Spencer's not above expecting the latter.

Jon sticks his head around the door. "Drumline is ready," he says. "Looking pretty damn good, Spencer Smith."

"Shut up," Spencer says, blushing furiously. "Worst idea ever."

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Here," he says, fumbling in his pocket and tossing his phone at Jon. "Call Brendon and tell him to meet you in the hallway in two minutes. He's eating lunch with Dallon and Ian and Shane, I just checked."

Jon salutes Ryan and grins. "Good luck, soldier," he says to Spencer.

"Sure thing... sailor," Spencer says. Spencer can't get over how weird Jon is sometimes. He and Ryan are totally suited to each other. He pats his pocket for his pair of tickets to the dance. "Okay, I'm totally ready."

"It was nice knowing you," Ryan says, sympathetically. He pats Spencer's shoulder.

"Shut up," Spencer says, and tries to get a handle on the twist of nerves in his belly.

~*~

"This is going to end in detention," Ryan warns.

Spencer doesn't disagree. It _is_ going to end in detention, he knows that. He also hopes it's going to end in Brendon being his date to the dance.

"Ready?" Jon asks, adjusting his guitar strap. He's going to play along, too, which isn't going to be in the least bit embarrassing.

"As I'll ever be," Spencer says, and cues up the CD.

The music starts up first, the four members of the school drumline that Spencer could round up at short notice standing on the stairs behind Spencer and drumming to the beat of the stereo Ryan's holding. Ryan is looking half as if he can't imagine anything worse than standing right here clutching a stereo that's blaring out McFly's _All About You_ , and half as if this is the greatest embarrassment he could have ever wished upon Spencer. Clearly nobody in the whole school apart from Spencer - and now Ryan and Jon - know the song, but whatever. The fact that the drumline don't know it either doesn't seem to matter all that much. Spencer is giving Brendon a _parade_. Already kids are streaming out of the cafeteria and the adjoining classrooms to see what all the noise is about; Spencer notices the moment Brendon tumbles out of the cafeteria and into the hallway, Dallon's hand in the small of his back. He's frowning, confused.

Spencer holds up his first sign in time with the band singing. It says, **Yesterday, you asked me something I thought you knew.**

Brendon folds his arms, but he is starting to smile. A wide, happy, dance-invitation-accepting kind of smile. Spencer can recognize all of Brendon's smiles now, and this is _definitely_ that one.

 _Aha_ , Spencer thinks. He holds up his next sign, **So I told you with a smile** _-_ he drops it quickly, the music already getting ahead of him - and holds up his third sign. It reads, **It's all about you**.

He mouths, _It's all about you_ to Brendon, and points.

Brendon is red-faced and shaking his head, laughing so much he can barely speak. "Oh my god," he says. "You are so stupid."

Spencer laughs, and holds up his final sign. It says, **Come to the dance with me, Brendon,** and in his other hand he holds up a pair of tickets.

Around him, the drumline keep drumming and the stereo keeps playing and Brendon continues to laugh, already clambering up the steps to where Spencer's waiting, clutching his sign.

"Ask me," Brendon says, biting his lip. "Ask me properly."

"Be my date to the GSA dance, Brendon Urie," he says.

Brendon makes a face. "Do you get to keep the hat?" he asks, standing up on tip-toe so he can flick the feather with his fingertip. "You look good in tights."

"Shut up," Spencer says, red-faced. "Ms. Elliot wants it back before the end of lunchtime. I'm sorry I didn't realize you were asking me to the dance yesterday. I thought you were just giving me candy."

"It was 'inviting you to the dance' candy," Brendon says, as the song trails off. "I thought the note I wrote explained all of that. And the waltzing frog."

"Huh," Spencer says, because he doesn't remember the note.

Brendon rolls his eyes. "I'm going to give you boyfriend lessons," he says. "Lesson one: pay attention."

Spencer sneaks a hand around Brendon's back. "So you'll be my date to the GSA dance?" he asks.

"It's the Science Club dance too," Dallon yells. "Don't forget the Science Club."

Spencer rolls his eyes. As if anyone could forget the _Science Club_.

Brendon leans into Spencer's side. "Okay," he says, and Spencer drops a kiss to Brendon's temple and beams.

"Spencer Smith," Mr. Vasquez says, storming down the hallway. "Detention, detention, _detention._ " He stops short. "Are those tights?"

"Mr. Vasquez, you have to look beyond the binary," Brendon tells him, earnestly, wrapping an arm around Spencer's waist. "Who says tights are only for girls? If Spencer wants to wear tights he _can_ and you shouldn't try and make him fit into your expectations of gender norms."

Mr. Vasquez narrows his eyes. "Detention, Mr. Urie, because I can't tell if you're mocking me or not."

"That is so unfair," Spencer says, and Mr. Vasquez smiles.

"Life, Mr. Smith, is not fair either."

Spencer doesn't believe that for a second. He has Brendon, for a start. And a fucking drumline, who won't shut up, even though the song's ended. Ryan is starting to look pained.

"I got you a parade," Spencer tells Brendon, as Mr. Vasquez starts to write out their detention slips. Brendon tangles his fingers in Spencer's and grins.

"You did, Spencer Smith, so I am going to forgive you for not noticing I was asking you to the dance, so long as you come and make out with me right the fuck now."

"I'm in _tights_ ," Spencer complains, because they're starting to itch and it's kind of bizarre how some of his leg hairs seem to be poking through them.

"I _know_ ," Brendon says, with a grin. "I like it."

"You," Spencer says, biting his lip, "are so fucking weird."

"I know," Brendon says, sunnily, and he holds out his hand for the detention slips Mr. Vasquez is trying to hand to them. "And now you're my date to the dance."

~*~

Spencer is surprisingly nervous on Friday, the day of the GSA and Science Club Schrodinger's Dance. He leaves his suit hanging up over the door of his closet before school, and he anxiously smoothes down the leg of the pants just in case there's a crease. There is a boutonniere in the fridge that he'd gone to pick up for Brendon that morning with his mom as soon as the flower market had opened; he'd felt kind of stupid about having to go in and buy a button hole flower for his boyfriend, since he'd never bought flowers for anyone before, but now that he's got it here and chilling in the fridge, he feels kind of good about it. He's excited about getting to tuck it into Brendon's jacket that evening. He's excited about getting dressed up and having Brendon on his arm; it's a strange feeling, but they're going out together in public where other people are going to see them and they're going to be a _couple_. There's a jumping bean of excitement turning over and over in his stomach, and Spencer can't wait. It's not just the dance, Brendon thinks he might have the house to himself tomorrow and even though they haven't exactly talked about it, Spencer knows that if he does, there's going to be making out. There's going to be the kind of making out that involves them taking their shirts off, and Spencer's hoping that they're going to be able to take the stuff that they've been doing over the phone—jerking off—and do that together, in Brendon's bedroom, tomorrow. He's thought about the possibility of going further, and when he thinks about it he doesn't feel the kind of uncomfortable unease that he's felt in the past. He feels—excited, and _ready_. Maybe tomorrow is going to be the day. Tonight the dance, tomorrow... whatever.

He hums in excitement, _maybe maybe maybe._

~*~

They stay late after school putting the final touch to the decorations in the gym, and by the time they finish up, there's barely enough time for Spencer to rush home and get dressed before Brendon, Ryan and Jon are due to arrive so they can all leave together.

"I made you some dinner," Spencer's dad calls up the stairs after him, as Spencer takes the stairs three at a time, already pulling his shirt off so he can jump in the shower.

"Can't eat, need to get ready," Spencer tells him, already kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks.

"Stop leaving your stuff everywhere," Crystal yells at him, opening her door and kicking his shoes out of the way. "Some of us don't want your smelly shoes in our rooms."

" _Mom_ ," Spencer yells. "Crystal's being annoying. I'm busy. I have a dance to get ready for."

"Crystal," Spencer's mom reprimands, from the door to her bedroom. "Stop yelling at your brother." Spencer makes a face at her. "Spencer, if you don't pick those shoes up right this second, and _those dirty socks,_ oh my god, what have I brought up, then you won't be leaving this house tonight at all, dance or not!"

Crystal sticks her tongue out at him and slams her door.

"Yell at her for slamming her door," Spencer complains, half-heartedly kicking his discarded shoes in the direction of his bedroom door. "You let her get away with everything."

"I'm putting you all up for adoption," she says, rolling her eyes. "I'm going to go live on a desert island and be waited upon by young men in shorts."

Spencer wrinkles his nose. " _Mom_."

She raises an eyebrow. "I was young once, you know. I remember, one time, before I met your dad -"

"Not listening," Spencer says, clapping his hands over his ears and shoving the door open to his bedroom. Oh _god_ , his parents are the worst ever. He stares at the suit hanging over the closet door, and grins. He texts Brendon, _cant wait to cu all dressed up xo_ and reaches for his towel so he can jump in the shower.

~*~

Ryan arrives early, and spends the ten minutes Spencer has before Brendon and Jon are supposed to show up making fun of Spencer's hair.

"There's nothing wrong with my hair," Spencer says, batting Ryan's hand away. "You're the one wearing a stupid _scarf_."

"At least my hair isn't all, you know, sticking up," Ryan says. He sprawls on Spencer's bed, all long limbs and awkward arms. "Are you ready to hear about my leaving gift for Jon yet?"

Spencer rolls his eyes, and tries to concentrate on knotting his tie in the right places. "Go on," he says. "The floor's yours."

"Okay," Ryan says. "It's stupid, okay? It's really fucking stupid."

"Like I would have expected anything less," Spencer says. "Box of summer, you said."

"Yeah, so," Ryan says. "I figured that Jon was missing out on like, a whole summer worth of dating me. Which sucks, right? So I made him a book, and, like, filled it with stuff we did."

Spencer makes a face. "Stuff you did?" he asks.

Ryan looks fierce. "In our imaginary summer," he says. "All the dates we went on and stuff." His face changes. "Oh god, this is the worst idea ever. He's going to dump me for a college guy. Some dudebro who doesn't make him an imaginary date book, and a box full of accessories, fuck."

"Like, you just listed everything you did? In a book?" Spencer does not think this is a particularly great idea, but Ryan actually looks a little like he did that time when he was eight and he left his Aladdin doll on the ride at the playpark, and he and Ryan's dad and Spencer had had to run all the way back in case someone had stolen it.

"With pictures," Ryan says, miserably. "And recipes and stuff, for when we went out and had dinner."

"Recipes," Spencer says, managing not to laugh.

"And I made videos of myself at places and then burnt them to disc and put them in the book on the right dates," Ryan goes on. "So he wouldn't forget me. And I wrote him a poem. I thought he could set it to music and it could be our song."

Spencer snorts. "Sorry," he says, holding his hands up. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself."

"You dressed up as a leprechaun and sang along with a boy band record," Ryan says, hotly.

"I was _Robin Hood_ ," Spencer says, quickly. "And I didn't sing along, and they're not a boy band. They're boys. In a band. I don't sing. It's embarrassing. I made signs."

"Well, if you'd taken pictures of your stupid self and put them in a book and given them to Brendon then you would be as stupid as me," Ryan tells him. "Which is stupid. Really _stupid_." Ryan's voice cracks. "He's my boyfriend and he's _leaving_ , Spence. He's leaving me."

Spencer lets out a breath and sits down on the edge of the bed. He wraps an arm around Ryan's shoulders and tugs him close, kissing the top of his head. "He's not leaving _you_ , Ry," he says, softly. "He's just leaving."

"Feels just the same," Ryan says in a muffled voice, hiding his face in Spencer's shirt. If he's drooling on Spencer's shirt, Spencer is going to punch something.

"You're going to see him all the time, Ryan," Spencer says. "And you'll Skype every day."

"It's not the same as being at school together," Ryan says, and Spencer knows that that's true. There's nothing else to say and so he doesn't even try, hugging Ryan close until the doorbell rings and Spencer's mom yells upstairs to say that Jon's here.

~*~

Spencer's dad insists on getting at least one million pictures of all four of them. He keeps taking photos as Spencer tries to attach Brendon's buttonhole flower, and he even takes a picture of Spencer trying to stop his finger bleeding after he got it caught on the pin.

"It's time to go," Spencer says, trying to hide his bleeding finger in the pocket of his suit.

"No it isn't," Spencer's mom says. "We want some _couple_ pictures."

"Oh god," Spencer says, rolling his eyes. On the couch, Jackie and Crystal giggle, Jackie going red as Ryan waves at her. Jon waves and both Jackie and Crystal go red at that, which is new. Spencer mouths _crazy_ at Ryan, who raises his eyebrows, but doesn't detach himself from Jon's side. Jon is indeed wearing flip-flops with his tux, a powder blue monstrosity with no tie and an open shirt that surprisingly, doesn't look awful. Jon is a rule unto himself, this is what Spencer has realized over time. He and Brendon are both in black tuxes, and Brendon has a red flower in his buttonhole whereas Spencer has a cream one. It's kind of amazing, and he doesn't think he's let go of Brendon's hand the whole time he's been here, apart from the whole stabbing himself with a pin incident, which he's _really_ glad that his dad got on camera. "You don't want pictures of us as couples."

"I do," Spencer's mom says, and there's a steely, fierce edge to her expression that Spencer knows not to argue with. "I want at least one picture of you and Brendon that's good enough to go on the mantel, and one of Ryan and Jon."

"Where are you going to put the one of me, Mrs. - uh, Ginger?" Ryan asks.

"In front of the one of Spencer, of course," his mom says. She waves Spencer and Brendon in front of the fireplace. "Now pose, come on."

"I can't believe you're putting Ryan in front of me," Spencer complains. "Here," he says, noticing Brendon's flower is crooked. "Let me fix that for you."

The flash going off is unexpected, but when he looks up, his mom is unrepentant. "Shush," she says, "it's a cute picture."

"Hmmm," Spencer says, and he makes nice and smiles whenever his mom and dad ask him to, one arm around Brendon's shoulders. The last few pictures are the most fun, Ryan on Spencer's back, demanding a piggy back ride, Brendon laughing so much he almost cries, Jon with his arm around Brendon's shoulders.

When he puts Ryan down he can feel the tightness in Ryan's shoulders, the countdown to Jon's leaving, the way he's holding it together and not letting on. He grabs Ryan's elbow and wraps him into a hug, and for once, Ryan doesn't protest, hiding his face in Spencer's shoulder and holding on.

"Now," Spencer's mom says. "Have you got your camera? We want you to take lots of pictures so you can come home and show us them _all_."

Spencer makes a face. "We do have a TV, you know. You can make your own entertainment."

"Hush," Spencer's mom says. "Go on, you'll be late."

~*~

The dance is a rainbow monstrosity, glitter everywhere and a DJ set that is almost entirely trashy pop punk and emo rock. Spencer is pretty sure he's not wearing enough eyeliner. He wonders if Ryan has any they can all share; he feels he should at least get to dress up if the music warrants it.

"This is _amazing_ ," Brendon says, eyes wide even though he'd helped Spencer and Dallon and the others put up all the decorations a couple of hours earlier. "Look at the streamers, and the _lanterns_ , and oh my gosh, the _glitter_."

"Best dance ever, right?" Spencer says, remembering homecoming last fall when he'd been made to dance with every cheerleader in succession, and someone had over-spiked the punch and he'd ended the evening throwing up in the bushes by the bike racks with Ryan tipping a bottle of water over his head to see if it sobered him up any.

Brendon shrugs a little, not meeting Spencer's eyes. "Sure," he says. "Much better than all the other ones."

 _Hmmm_ , Spencer thinks. "Do you want a drink?" he asks.

"Only if it doesn't have alcohol in it," Brendon says, making a sad face. "My mom and dad say they're not going out tomorrow if I smell like alcohol when I get in, and, well." He shrugs, his eyes dancing as he meets Spencer's gaze. "I'd like them to go out tomorrow, is all I'm saying."

"They're definitely going out?" Spencer asks, in an undertone. "Like, all day?"

"All day," Brendon confirms. "For real. Unless I come in drunk, that is. You still wanna come over?"

"Yes," Spencer says, quickly. "Yes, yes, yes."

"Great," Brendon says. "That's, just, well. That's great."

Spencer leans in and presses his mouth to the curve of Brendon's ear. "Want to see you naked again," he says in a whisper, and Brendon's skin pinks in response, cheeks flushed.

"Me too," Brendon tells him, and slides his arms over Spencer's shoulders and behind his head. "Me too."

It's easy for Spencer to lean in and kiss him, to curl his fingers over Brendon's biceps and hold on and kiss him again, over and over.

Later, when Brendon escapes to use the bathroom, Ryan sneaks over and sits down next to Spencer. "What has you looking like you've won the lottery?" Ryan asks, elbowing him in the side.

Spencer narrowly avoids Ryan's second elbow jab. "Brendon's parents are out tomorrow," he confides. "You know what that means."

"Yep," Ryan says, nodding, "it means you're both going to be free to come over and help me get ready for this stupid prom, right?"

"Ryan," Spencer complains. "You got ready for tonight by yourself, right?"

"Tomorrow's _different_ ," Ryan says, which is true, Spencer knows. Prom is held in one of the big hotels downtown, and while their school is pretty progressive and definitely modern, it's still going to be the case that Ryan's going to be one of the only non-straight couples at prom. It's going to be different to tonight, where the rule was that you didn't have to go come with a date, so everybody's dancing with each other, big groups of friends on the dance floor waving streamers and putting their hands in the air whenever the DJ let off the ticker tape. Later on they have these pretty incredibly flags to give out that say _yay!_ on one side and either _tolerance, acceptance_ or _dignity_ on the back. Spencer's spent all fucking week sticking flags onto sticks, so they'd better be appreciated, that's all he's going to say about _that_.

Anyway, tonight is a party, and it's a great party, and everybody looks like they're having fun. There are even another few same-sex couples dancing together on the dance floor, and Spencer doesn't know whether they're actually dating or just enjoying dancing together, but it's happening, it's all coming together, and it's because of _them_. They did this. _Brendon_ did this. Spencer has never been prouder in his whole life. And Brendon has actual friends of his own, or at least people who have started to search Brendon out and seem to want to sit with him at lunch and whose numbers Spencer's pretty sure he has in his phone. Okay, so they're Shane, who Ryan has still not forgiven for the crime of being on the school newspaper staff, and Dallon, who is totally fucking weird and who has spent the whole week suggesting increasingly crazier ideas about what they could do with a Bunsen burner as a table decoration, and Ian, who has hair enough for all of them and seems to like developing photos of Brendon just so he can hand them over like a dog with a chewed tennis ball, but they're still people who seem to see the awesome in Brendon, so Spencer can get used to them. Plus they seem to not hate him, too, which is pretty cool. Everybody in school knows Spencer's name but it's not like he's going to call them all up and invite them over to watch movies or anything. He's had Ryan for that all these years. Except, maybe, he wouldn't exactly mind if Shane and Ian and Dallon came over and watched _Star Wars_ with him. And Zack, too, who is badass and who Spencer is relatively sure his mom has a crush on and secretly wants to adopt, which is enough reason to try and forget he ever figured that out.

His point is that however much fun they all have hanging out tonight at the Schrodinger's Dance, it's going to be totally different for Ryan going to prom tomorrow, and not just because Ryan's going to be one of the only juniors there.

"It'll be great," Spencer lies, because Ryan is really fucking nervous about this, not that anyone who isn't Spencer can tell. Ryan is awesome at covering shit up.

"Jon says we can leave if it sucks," Ryan confides, but Spencer knows that Ryan's not going to admit that it sucks if it looks like Jon's having fun.

"When do you want me to come over?" Spencer asks, after a moment, because he doesn't know what's going to happen tomorrow, but he knows one thing: he's going to be at Ryan's before he leaves for prom if it kills him.

Ryan lets out a breath. "I'll find out what time Jon's booked the restaurant for, okay?" he says, nodding over at Jon, who is waiting in line at the punch table with his friend Tom. "Then, I don't know. A couple of hours earlier? You think you can stop having sex with Brendon long enough to come keep me company?"

Spencer burns a bright, fiery red. "Shut up," he says, ducking his head. He shrugs his shoulders. "Okay," he says, finally. Then quickly, "I think we're going to have sex tomorrow." He swallows. "For real. Not kidding. First time."

Ryan elbows him. "You go, champ," he says, in his driest monotone.

Spencer snorts, and elbows him back. "You want to go dance?" he asks. "I think they're playing our song."

"Our song is not by Avril fucking Lavigne, Spence," Ryan says, but he lets Spencer drag him to his feet. "Our song is something awesome. Like, I don't know. Not this. Not _Complicated_."

Spencer laughs, and grabs Ryan's hand. " _I like you the way you are_ ," he sings, because nobody will be able to actually hear him sing over the volume of the music.

"You are such a fucking loser," Ryan laughs, but he lets Spencer twirl him in a circle, and when Spencer's done spinning him around, Ryan wraps an arm around Spencer's waist and sings right back at him, " _You're trying to be cool, but you look like a fool to me_."

"Fucker," Spencer says, but Ryan just grins and rests his head on Spencer's shoulder for a moment before launching into the most ridiculous series of dance moves Spencer's ever seen in his whole entire life. Ryan dancing is like watching a spider on acid, or a robot on fast forward, or so Spencer imagines, having never seen either.

"Hey," Jon says, coming over with arms full of drinks. "Is this a best friend dance or can anyone join in?"

Spencer waggles his eyebrows, grabbing an unopened can of Coke. "He's all yours," he says.

"I am not a gift to be given," Ryan says, sulkily, waving his arms in the air. "I am my own man."

Jon laughs, and holds out a can. Ryan leans over and presses a kiss to Jon's cheek, still doing the stupidest dance Spencer's ever seen. He's so busy laughing at Ryan's inability to keep a basic rhythm that he doesn't notice when Brendon sneaks up beside him and grabs Spencer's hand, his other hand in the small of Spencer's back. Brendon dips him backwards, leaning right over so that he can kiss Spencer hello.

Spencer lets himself be kissed. He's still grinning when Brendon tugs him back up to a standing position, pink-cheeked and beaming.

"I've always wanted to do that," Brendon says, helplessly, and Spencer laughs and gathers him up into a hug, spinning him around.

"I've always wanted to do _that_ ," he says, and Brendon laughs out loud, grabbing his hand.

"Be my date _forever_ , Spencer Smith," he says, and Spencer thinks, _already done_.

~*~

Brendon answers the door the following morning dressed in a faded old t-shirt and a pair of shorts that look like they're staying up by magic alone.

"Hi," Spencer says, stupidly, because Brendon is really, really hot, and there's a strip of warm, bare skin just _there_ , where Brendon's hitched up his shirt to scratch at his hip. Spencer can't take his eyes off it.

"I got up early and cleaned my room," Brendon says, holding out his hand. "I think my mom thinks I'm crazy. You want to come see?"

"Are your parents here?" Spencer asks, sticking his head around the front door. He likes Brendon's parents but he wants to know if he can make out with Brendon right here and right now, and whether he can touch at that warm stripe of skin without fear of being walked in on.

"They're out all day," Brendon says in satisfaction, tugging Spencer in and out of the sunshine, and kicking the door shut behind him. "They're not back until this evening. _All day_ , Spence," he says, and after a moment, he tugs his t-shirt up and over his head.

"Oh god," Spencer manages, in a hoarse voice, following the smattering of hair down from Brendon's belly button to the waistband of his shorts. He's still walking on air from last night's dance, and now _this_. It's like all his Christmases have come at once.

"You should come over here and kiss me hello," Brendon says. He bites his lip and waves his hand at Spencer. "Spence?"

"Fuck," Spencer says, and closes the distance between the two of them, plastering himself to Brendon's chest, catching Brendon's mouth in a kiss. He runs his hands up and down Brendon's back, skin warm and inviting beneath his fingertips. "Hi," he says, in between kisses. It feels like they're breaking the rules, kissing half-naked in Brendon's hallway like this isn't where Brendon's parents and family hang out.

"So," Brendon says, curling his fingers under the hem of Spencer's shirt. "Do you want to come upstairs?" There is something ever-so slightly hesitant in his voice and Spencer's stomach turns over.

Spencer nods, quickly. "Yeah," he says, and Brendon swallows loudly.

"Okay," Brendon says, and takes Spencer's hand. "I took drinks and snacks up earlier so we wouldn't have to come, uh, downstairs."

"Good plan," Spencer says, and his voice cracks, just a little. The tension feels tight and a little uncomfortable; Spencer ducks his head and follows Brendon upstairs.

Brendon's room is _clean_. Or cleaner than Spencer's ever seen it, anyway. All of the clothes are gone and the windows are open so everything smells clean and fresh. The sheets are different to the ones that Brendon had on his bed earlier in the week, and even his school books and papers are piled up neatly by the wall. His CDs might not have made it back into the CD rack, but they are at least piled up haphazardly by his stereo, and his instruments are all stacked up under the window.

"You cleaned," Spencer says, awkwardly, and Brendon ducks his head.

"I wanted it to be— _nice_ ," Brendon says. "For us. Special." His cheeks are flushed and he taps his foot against the floor, t-shirt screwed up in his hand.

Spencer swallows. "It's nice," he says. "Special. You're special."

"Well," Brendon says. "So are you. I was thinking we could, I don't know, do what we do on the phone. But here. Together."

"Jerk off?" Spencer says, quickly. "Together?"

"Yeah," Brendon says. "It could be the next stage, you know, of uh, us."

 _Fingers_ , Spencer thinks, over and over. "I'd get to see you—" he says, and moves his hand in the air, which is as close he can get to mimicking Brendon fingering himself.

Brendon blushes a deep, fiery red. "If you want," he says. "Maybe. And I could see you."

"I want," Spencer says, fiercely, and without letting himself think about it, he tugs his shirt off over his head and pulls down his pants. He stands there in his red underwear and his stupid yellow socks with mustaches on them—a gift from Ryan—and folds his arms. He does not think about the way he can feel his dick getting hard just from Brendon looking at him, just from standing here like this, mostly naked in Brendon's bedroom.

"Oh fuck," Brendon says, and there's a soft, desperate waver to his voice as he pulls down his shorts until he's standing there in his pale blue y-fronts. Spencer can't take his eyes off the outline of Brendon's dick through his underwear. "Can we, can we make out now?"

"Oh god, yes," Spencer breathes, and he rugby tackles Brendon back on to the bed, landing with an _oomph_ on top of him.

Brendon snorts. "Is that how you get all the guys to make out with you?" he asks, trying to remove his elbow from somewhere under Spencer's arm.

"Only you," Spencer says, in satisfaction, and rolls Brendon over so that he's on top of Spencer. He can't help but be very, very aware that he's already hard and that Brendon is too, and that this is the first time they've made out in their underwear. Brendon wriggles, trying to get comfortable, and suddenly there is delicious, hot friction and Spencer can't help but roll his hips to try and catch the feeling again. Brendon swallows, stilling, and then his eyes meet Spencer's and even though this moment might have been awkward and uncomfortable, it isn't, not even a little bit. It feels hot, but in the best possible way, and he feels suddenly so close to Brendon that he could be inside of him, which isn't creepy at all. He slides his hands down Brendon's sides until they rest on Brendon's hips, and Brendon sucks in a breath and ducks his head down to hide his face in Spencer's neck.

"I love you," Brendon says, softly, his mouth pressed to the skin underneath Spencer's ear.

Spencer, all of a sudden can't breathe, and Brendon stills, silent and painful.

"Say that again," Spencer says. He shifts, rolling on to his side, because right now the only thing that seems important is to see Brendon's face, to see his eyes, to touch his face. He needs to make sure that he didn't just make that moment up with his brain. "Brendon," he says, urgently, cupping Brendon's cheek in his hand, " _say that again_."

Brendon leans into Spencer's hand. "I love you," he says, again, his eyes bright. "That doesn't change anything, right? You don't want to leave?"

"Are you an _idiot?_ " Spencer asks steadily, stroking at Brendon's cheek with his fingertips. "That's the greatest thing anyone's ever said to me, oh my fucking god. You are an _idiot_."

Brendon ducks his head and presses a kiss to Spencer's collarbone. "I was scared in case you didn't feel the same," he says, without looking up.

Spencer groans and tugs Brendon up so he can lean in to press his mouth to Brendon's. He can barely hear over the desperate beating of his heart. "In case I didn't feel the same, oh fuck, are you stupid?" he asks, sliding his mouth across Brendon's lips. "I am so in love with you. I am going to _marry you_ , you idiot."

"Well," Brendon says, awkwardly, "you didn't say that."

"I'm saying it now," Spencer says. He feels a little like he might throw up. He's never said that to anyone before. It's out in the open now, all of his secrets. He feels laid open and bare. He wraps his arms tight around Brendon's back and tucks his face into the curve of Brendon's shoulder. He concentrates on the hard press of Brendon's dick into his hip, and the stretch of his own underwear over his erection. He tries to slide his knee in between Brendon's, and Brendon complies easily, opening his legs so that Spencer can press himself even closer.

Brendon nudges at Spencer's chin. "Kiss me," he says, his voice a little shaky. "Please, Spence. Kiss me."

"If you say so," Spencer says, softly, and thinks, _as you wish_. He presses a kiss to the corner of Brendon's mouth, sliding his tongue across Brendon's lips. He nips at Brendon's bottom lip with his teeth, and Brendon groans against him and lets Spencer kiss his mouth open, soft and sweet. His breath is hot and he still tastes like toothpaste; Spencer rocks his hips up without even thinking about it and stills as his dick touches Brendon's.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Brendon breathes, kissing Spencer again. "Do that again."

Spencer carefully rocks his hips up again, his dick brushing Brendon's. It's kind of amazing to look down and see their dicks like this, tenting out their underwear. Brendon's waistband is stretched out and Spencer can see—he can see Brendon's dick, just a little of it, just enough if he strains forward. "Can I—" he starts, his mouth dry. "Can I see again, like last time? Please, Brendon—"

Brendon lets out a long, ragged breath. "You sure?" he says. He means, Spencer thinks, _are you ready_?

Spencer nods. "Yeah," he says, "I'm sure."

"Okay," Brendon says, and he rolls onto his back, rocking his hips up so that he can tug down his underwear and kick them off the side of the bed. Brendon's dick bobs up as he settles back on to the bed, his erection a little red, the tip sliding a stripe across his stomach as he curls up for a moment, shifting back on to the pillows. His hand hovers over his dick for a moment, not touching. He bites at his lip. "Your turn," he says.

"You can, uh," Spencer swallows, his mouth dry. He moves his hand. "You should touch yourself."

"In a minute," Brendon says. "After you, um." He points at Spencer's underwear.

Spencer takes his socks off first, sitting up so he can reach his feet and drop his mustache socks off the edge of the bed. He stands up quickly, shuffling his underwear down and kicking it off. He flushes, and launches himself on the bed, hand already circling his dick.

Brendon slaps his wrist. "Stop it," he says, "let me look first."

Spencer grins, biting his lip as he holds his hands up in the air. "No hands," he says.

"Me neither," Brendon says, pink-cheeked and naked and staring in wonder at Spencer's dick. Spencer can barely breathe. He's heard Brendon jerk off twice, now, and he's seen him naked once before this, and it's all been _amazing_ , but he's constantly left wanting more. He wonders if it'll always be like this, always another step on a path to something else, something more, something different, something more satisfying. He wants to touch, run his fingers through the dark, wiry hair at the base of Brendon's dick, move his hand up until he can run his fingers across the slit. "Kiss me," Brendon says, softly, reaching for Spencer's hand. "Come over here and kiss me."

"Yeah," Spencer breathes and rolls over so that he can wrap his arms around Brendon's back and lean in to kiss him. He kisses him over and over and over, until he's breathless and panting and he can feel Brendon's dick against his own, hard and _there_ and oh god, he _loves him_. "What we did on the phone," he says, pulling away, his hand on Brendon's chest. "Please, I want to see you."

"You want to see me jerk off?" Brendon asks, pink-cheeked. "And—" he waves his hand in the air.

"And _that_ , yes," Spencer says, blushing hard. Especially _that_. "Please, B, I want to watch."

"I want to watch you, too," Brendon says.

"Okay," Spencer says, and he reaches down to circle his fingers around his erection. "Go on. Jerk off for me."

"You say the sweetest things," Brendon says, and he settles himself on his side, wrapping his hand around his dick.

"Oh god," Spencer manages, because Brendon's lying on his side for one reason only, and that's because he's going to fucking _finger himself_ when Spencer's there, when Spencer's watching. Spencer tightens his grip on his dick, because Brendon's licking his finger wet, and reaching around behind him, and _fuck_. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. He can't help but arch up, his hips rocking up into his fist as he watches Brendon finger his own ass, and why the fuck had Spencer never thought about trying that before he'd heard Brendon do it? He's such a fucking innocent, fuck. He fists himself instead, jerking off dry, the friction harsh against his skin. He doesn't care because there's one thing he's watching, and that's Brendon jacking off.

Brendon starts slowly, fist loose around his erection, hand behind him, and Spencer cannot get over that what he's actually seeing is Brendon jerking himself off with a finger in his ass, and it is like, without a doubt, the hottest thing ever. There is no hotter thing. It isn't possible.

"I imagine it's you," Brendon says, shifting on the sheets. His eyes are bright and dark, his cheeks red. "Doing this to me, I imagine it's _you_."

"Fuck," Spencer manages, his other hand sneaking down to stroke and squeeze his balls. He slides a finger down between his legs, shifting his thighs apart so that he can reach better. This is far as he's gone, stroking his own ass with the pad of his finger. He's never gone inside, not like Brendon's doing right now. "What's it feel like?" The skin behind his balls feels indecently sensitive, and this feels really fucking dirty. He's getting off on this like nothing else he can remember. He rubs with the pad of his fingertip and swallows back a groan. It's almost but not quite his ass.

"Don't—" Brendon says, shaking his head. "Don't be quiet for me."

"Fuck," Spencer groans, and he bends his knees up so he can balance on his feet and rock his hips up and off the bed, so he can get a better angle with the tip of his finger.

"Are you going to—" Brendon's eyes are wide and his hand is moving faster on his dick. "Spence, fuck. Are you fingering yourself?"

"Not yet," Spencer says, blushing bright red. "I haven't—I don't."

Brendon swallows loudly. "Oh my—Spence, jeez. It feels so good, Spence. It feels so fucking good."

Spencer _whines_.

"When I start, I just want to do it for hours," Brendon admits. He leans over and presses a kiss to Spencer's shoulder and Spencer hisses, because they've never touched at all when they've been jerking off. It feels like a connection, like a barrier Spencer didn't know was there had just evaporated, and they both shift and move closer, and Spencer's arm is pressed up against Brendon's, and he can _feel him moving_. Brendon leans his forehead to Spencer's. "I think about you doing it to me," he says, in a low, hoarse voice. "About you fingering me until it makes me come, just from that."

Spencer feels like he can't breathe. "I want to do that to you," he says, and it should feel weird that he's getting off talking about having his fingers in Brendon's ass, but it doesn't. It just feels like everything he's ever wanted, like every single hot thing he can imagine all mixed up in one.

"I'll let you," Brendon tells him. "I want you to."

"Oh god," Spencer says, and he shifts so that he can kiss Brendon's breath away. Brendon twists, trying to get closer and it's weird, desperate and impatient, awkward because neither of them have a hand free to steady themselves. He's so close now that he can feel Brendon's fist brushing against his thigh on every up-stroke and this is not how he imagined this feeling. If anything, it's better. So much better. A thousand times better. He gives up on tentatively touching his ass and rolls on to his side, sliding his hand down into the small of Brendon's back. _You're everything_ , he thinks, and when he shifts even closer he can tangle his fingers with Brendon's, tugging his hand away from his dick. There's a second where everything shifts and then Spencer's fingers are curling around Brendon's erection, and he is touching his dick, and this is it, this is _everything_. He's losing his virginity, he thinks. This is what this feels like.

It's awkward and rough like this, and everything feels like it's attached the wrong way around, but he doesn't care. Brendon whines, rocking his dick up into Spencer's fist, his other hand still fumbling with his ass. Spencer can only _imagine_ what that feels like, and he rubs his dick against Brendon's thigh, humping his leg as he imagines what Brendon's feeling right now with all of this directed at _him_. Brendon's sweaty and panting, breathless and desperate as Spencer kisses him over and over, swallowing Brendon's whines as Spencer jerks him off.

Spencer recognizes the way Brendon sounds because he's heard him on the phone; he's never _seen_ before though, and it's amazing. Brendon's skin is flushed, right down his chest, his skin hot to the touch, his forehead pink and sweaty.

"Spencer, Spencer," Brendon gasps. "I think I'm going to—"

Spencer groans. "Please, please, _please_ ," he says, because this is what he wants. He wants Brendon to come in his fist, on him, _for_ him, because of him. He wants it all. "Come on, Brendon."

"I'm going to come, Spencer," Brendon manages. "Going to come—"

"Yeah," Spencer breathes, jerking Brendon's dick. Brendon's hips stutter; his hips rock up and his hand stills, and then Brendon's coming, over his stomach and Spencer's fist and Spencer's thigh.

There is someone else's come on his hand. There is _Brendon's_ come on the back of his hand, and he stares at it for a moment, uncomprehending. Brendon stretches out on the sheets, skin flushed and chest heaving. He closes his eyes and Spencer watches the flutter of Brendon's dark eyelashes against his cheeks. Spencer lets out a breath, staring down at his hand. There's a moment where he has to make a decision; does he do this or does he not. Is it weird, is it wrong, is it _right_? He kneels up and slides his fingers across his stomach, smoothing a pathway through Brendon's come, covering his fingers so he can wrap his fist around his own cock.

"Oh," he manages. " _Oh_ ," because this is what this feels like. This is what it feels like to jerk off with someone else's come as lube, and this is what it feels like to rub his dick against someone else's skin as he jerks himself off. He rubs the head of his dick against Brendon's stomach, Brendon's come drying against his skin. He feels dizzy and desperate with want.

Brendon sits up on his elbows, eyes wide when he sees what Spencer's doing. Spencer flushes, feeling kind of _dirty_ , but he doesn't stop, sitting back on his heels as he jerks himself off, Brendon's come everywhere.

"You're—" Brendon starts, sitting up. He strokes his hand up Spencer's thigh, and Spencer's dick jumps in his fist. He's so close to the edge right now, and when Brendon awkwardly closes his hand around Spencer's, Spencer's hips stutter up and into his fist. He fucks his hand and Brendon's, tight and wet and hot.

"Is this what you do?" Brendon asks. "Fuck your hand like this?"

Spencer nods, unable to talk, breathless and panting. He fucks up into Brendon's fist, his own grip loosening as he lets Brendon take over. His hips snap forwards, and Brendon's grip tightens, slippery with come and sweat. It's tighter than Spencer normally lets himself fuck into, and it's even better than he could have imagined. He tries to warn Brendon that he's about to come, but he can't make words. He grips Brendon's shoulder instead, but Brendon doesn't pull away even though he looks hesitant and then kind of determined. It's the final rock of his hips that does it; the twist of Brendon's wrist, the final desperate breath as Spencer starts to come.

Afterwards, it's easy to slump down into Brendon's arms, to bury his hot, flushed face into Brendon's shoulder and let Brendon wrap his arms around him, tight and hot. Brendon kisses the top of his head and Spencer holds on tight and doesn't let go.

~*~

"I was thinking," Brendon says, a few minutes later, "and I don't know if you'd be okay with it but I was kind of thinking that maybe we could, uh, shower together or something. On the internet it said that sharing a shower was an sexy way of increasing intimacy and I figured, you know, the house is empty and it would be kind of cool—"

"Okay," Spencer says. He's wrapped around Brendon and his skin feels hot and oversensitive. His heart is still beating fast because this is so new and so exciting and there are all these places that are his to touch now, and explore, and he kind of wants to do it all.

"Okay?" Brendon says, shifting back a little so that he can meet Spencer's eyes. "You want to?"

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Do we need a lesson here?" he asks. "I am not going to say no to anything you ask, okay?"

"Just checking," Brendon says, the beginnings of a smile curling across his face. "You, uh, want to do it now? Shower?"

Spencer doesn't want to move ever again. He wants to stay here, sprawled across Brendon's sheets, Brendon in his arms, the new and exciting feel of Brendon's skin against his. He can feel Brendon's dick against the inside of his thigh and it's so very strange to feel somebody else naked and so close to him. It's not even that Brendon's naked and he can feel his _dick_ , it's that he's naked and there's so much unfamiliar skin pressed up against him that Spencer just wants to touch and feel and explore. The inside of Brendon's thigh, his hips, his ass. "Sure," he says. His heart's still beating fast. He's had _sex_. He's going to have more sex. He's never going to have to wonder what it's like to be naked with Brendon again, he's _done it_. He wants to text Ryan, say, _does it always feel this amazing, think my chest is going to explode_. He saves it up in his head to send later, watching instead as Brendon unpeels himself from Spencer's side and moves to stand up. Spencer stops him with a hand, curling his fingers around Brendon's wrist. Brendon sits naked on the bed, one knee up, his dick just _there._

"What?" Brendon asks, but Spencer just shakes his head. He's said _I love you_ once already, it's not like he needs to say it again.

He settles for, "Just looking."

Brendon snorts a laugh. "You can look whenever you want to," he says, and shifts so he can thread his fingers through Spencer's. "Come shower with me, Spence."

Spencer grins. "Okay," he says, and he tumbles off the bed, catching Brendon around the waist with one arm, pulling him back. His dick, he realizes, is pressing against the curve of Brendon's ass. He can feel himself starting to get turned on again and he grins, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Brendon's shoulder as they make their way down the hallway towards the bathroom.

There's something almost scandalously decadent about getting to make out with Brendon naked in the hallway of his house. Spencer can't let the opportunity slide by; he's tired of janitor's closets and making out for as long as he can with the door closed before his parents come by and tell him to open it again. He wants to do this whenever and wherever he wants, so he presses Brendon up against the wall under a panorama of a mountainside in Hawaii and kisses him until Brendon's breathless and arching up against him and they're both hard again. He kisses him under a wall of family wedding pictures, which is weirder still, Brendon in various stages of growing up, in ill-fitting, awkwardly tailored suits and ties which don't match his eyes. Brendon wraps his arms around Spencer's neck and arches up on to his tip-toes, stumbling Spencer backwards until they bump into the door of Brendon's mom and dad's bedroom, and Spencer starts to laugh so much that Brendon starts too, and they fall into the family bathroom still laughing and holding hands.

Brendon starts the shower and then hunts through the shelves looking for the right kind of shampoo and shower gel.

"I don't really care," Spencer says, truthfully, too busy staring at the long, muscled plains of Brendon's back, the curve of his ass, the length of his thighs.

"I care," Brendon says. "The internet said it was important to set the right kind of mood. It said candles but I don't know where we'd put them. Do you think if we moved the pot pourri we could light one there, on the back of the toilet?"

Spencer makes a face. "I'm not setting your house on fire, Brendon," he says. "Leave the candles and get over here."

"It won't be perfect," Brendon maintains.

"It will be," Spencer says, grabbing Brendon's wrist. "Stop doing whatever you're doing and get over here."

Brendon lets himself be tugged into Spencer's embrace. "Okay," he says. "I've got my mom's coconut shampoo and shower gel. "You like coconut, right?"

"Like nothing else," Spencer lies. "Get in here."

The shower stall is smaller than the one Spencer has in his tub back home. There isn't really room for the two of them, and with the water drenching them both it's kind of an odd experience, being this wet and this close together. Spencer grins, and leans in for a kiss, ignoring the water in his eyes and the drips sliding down his nose and getting in his way as he tries to stay out of the way of the main jet of water. Brendon kisses him back enthusiastically, slippery-wet and just _there_. Spencer slides a hand down into the small of Brendon's back, still awkwardly tentative about the new places he gets to touch now that they've stepped up their game and gotten to this stage. It's a hesitant, slow process for him to tentatively sneak his fingers even lower, for him to touch the curve of Brendon's ass, the soft, shaky exhale of breath from Brendon as he sneaks even lower, until the tip of his finger brushes Brendon's asshole.

Brendon stutters a breath, his eyes wide. Spencer tries to swallow, but he can't. His mouth is dry and there's water running off the end of his nose and in his eyes and he doesn't care, because he's touching Brendon where he's never touched _anyone_ , barely even himself, and he doesn't want to stop, because Brendon's eyes are wide and dark and _Spencer is making him do that_.

Spencer moves his finger back and forth, just a little, rubbing over Brendon's hole. This should feel dirty, he's pretty sure. It should feel like this is the least sexy thing ever, because this is Brendon's _ass_ , but it doesn't feel like that at all. It feels sexy and _hot_. Brendon's eyelids flutter shut and he tilts forward, shifting his legs a little further apart. For a second Spencer doesn't get it, until he realizes that Brendon's making it easier for him to touch him, making it _better_. Spencer can feel Brendon's erection trapped up against his stomach, and that is actually the hottest thing ever. Even hotter than what he's doing right now, which is sneaking the tip of his finger inside of Brendon so that Brendon pants brokenly against Spencer's cheek and Spencer falls apart inside. Brendon rocks a little on his heels and Spencer realizes that not only does that make Spencer press a little further inside of him, it also rubs Brendon's dick across Spencer's stomach and oh _fuck_ , he wants Brendon to get off on this. He wants Brendon to rock up against him, rubbing himself off against Spencer's stomach as he fucks himself on Spencer's fingers, and oh god, there is so much out there that Spencer just has _no clue_ about. _No clue at all_ , because this is incredible. Actually _incredible_.

"Kiss," Spencer manages, because he might be fingering Brendon but he's the one falling apart, coming apart from the inside out because this is so fucking incredible he can't formulate actual thoughts. Brendon's mouth finds his and their kiss is breathless and messy and wet, Brendon pressing back against Spencer's finger, rocking his hips up so that he's rubbing his dick against Spencer's stomach. Spencer wraps his other arm around Brendon's back, holding him close so that Brendon is pressed up even closer to him, so that the friction feels even more delicious as Brendon rocks up against his stomach. He kisses him again, over and over because he can, because he wants to, because this is the hottest thing he has ever done in his whole entire life. His own dick is hard against Brendon's hip and he wants to jerk off, but not enough that he wants to stop doing what he's doing right now.

"Feels different when it's you and not me," Brendon pants, wrapping his arms around Spencer's neck and holding on as he rocks down onto Spencer's fingers. Spencer's wrist hurts.

"Good-different?" Spencer asks.

Brendon rolls his eyes, his eyes fluttering shut as Spencer changes the angle and presses his finger in from a slightly different position. He can't get over what it feels like to be _inside_ Brendon like this, to feel him clenching around his finger, to feel his breath hot and wet against his skin as Brendon pants through his arousal. "Yes," Brendon manages, after a moment, then, " _Yes_."

Spencer slides his hand down and in between them, running the crook of his knuckle along the length of Brendon's erection so that Brendon stutters forward, hissing in a breath. The water runs down along their skin, loud in the relative silence of the house, Brendon's breathing the only other sound. Spencer wants this moment to last forever. Spencer shifts back so that he's pressed up against the uncomfortable chrome rack where Brendon's family keep all their shower gels and loofers and face cloths. It's pressing into him, but he doesn't care because now he has the room to circle his fist around Brendon's erection.

"Fuck it," Spencer says, suddenly, and his hair is in his eyes and he can't see anything and he's uncomfortable and his wrist hurts and he still wouldn't change a single thing. "Fuck my hand."

Brendon whines, tipping his head back. He tilts his hips up, fucking his erection up into Spencer's fist, and Spencer thinks, _oh my god_. His finger slides out of Brendon's ass but he doesn't care. He keeps his hand pressed to Brendon's ass as Brendon hips rock and just when he thinks it can't get any better, he dips his head into the crook of Brendon's shoulder and mouths at Brendon's jaw, desperate and wanting more. Brendon cries out, fingers scrabbling across Spencer's back, and that's it. Spencer nips at him with his teeth and Brendon comes with a desperate whine, hips rocking.

Afterwards, Brendon collapses against him, arms around Spencer's neck, cheek pressed against his shoulder. Spencer holds him up, stroking mindless circles into the hollow of Brendon's back, dazedly trying not to think of his own arousal, his erection pressing into Brendon's hip. He presses kisses to the top of Brendon's head, the heat from the water lending its own flush to Brendon's skin. He thinks that he's never felt closer to anyone in his life.

He drifts off, after a minute, content to stand there with his arms around Brendon, the water pounding down around them. It takes him a moment to realize that Brendon's shifted so that he can wrap his fingers around Spencer's dick and take him in hand.

Spencer tips his head back against the glass, out of the way of the water, and tries to remember how to breathe as Brendon jerks him off. It's weird because Brendon doesn't do it the way that Spencer does it to himself; Spencer's used to the way he jerks himself off and he's used to the way he can switch between things that he likes. It's strange to leave that up to someone else, and it's even stranger thinking about coming without touching his balls, which he loves like, a _lot_. Those things aside, this is hotter than all those times he's done it to himself because this time it's Brendon touching him, Brendon pressed up against him under the shower as the water falls, and Spencer has all of this new and exciting stuff to think about, like fingering Brendon and jerking him off and using his come as lube. He rocks his hips up into Brendon's hand but Brendon doesn't let him fuck his fist. Brendon closes the distance between them and swallows the protestations that Spencer wasn't going to voice, and then it's better, because he's coming in Brendon's hand, hot and desperate and breathless.

"Okay?" Brendon asks, after a while.

Spencer laughs, tired and unsure. "Yes," he says. "More than okay." He lets Brendon wrap his arms around him, and buries his face in Brendon's shoulder. "Really fucking good."

"Good," Brendon echoes. "Can I wash your hair?"

"Sure," Spencer says, because right now the possibility of having to do anything for himself seems farfetched and ridiculous. He lets Brendon manhandle him under the water again, tilting forward a little as Brendon massages his scalp with coconut scented shampoo.

"How's that feel?" Brendon asks, and Spencer's left groaning out a _good_ as Brendon continues to rub his fingers across Spencer's scalp.

"Like the best thing ever," Spencer says, letting his chin drop to his chest as Brendon massages his temples. "Where did you learn this?"

"Church camp," Brendon says, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't even know why they taught us _head massage_. I'm pretty sure they didn't think about me doing it to my boyfriend."

Spencer manages to huff a laugh. It feels too good to ruin by laughing. "Keep doing it," he says, and closes his eyes as Brendon continues to massage Spencer's scalp.

"Will do," Brendon says, and he does, for way longer than it takes for the shower to rinse the soap out of Spencer's hair and down the drain.

Spencer lets out a happy, contented groan as Brendon finally stops. "You're the best," he says, reaching for the shampoo so he can do the same to Brendon. He washes Brendon's hair quickly, without bothering to even try and manage the same kind of scalp massage that Brendon had given him. He switches to washing Brendon instead, stealing one of the body puffs hanging from a hook by the on/off button and soaking it in white, coconut-flavored shower gel. He soaps Brendon's chest first, then his arms and, turning him around, his back. He runs his hands down Brendon's sides, soaping across Brendon's hips and down to his ass. He washes his ass carefully, sliding a finger in between Brendon's ass cheeks so that Brendon squeaks and tilts his hips up. Spencer kisses Brendon's jaw, still running soapy fingers across Brendon's ass, and continues downwards, first one leg, then the next. It's easy to make Brendon turn around and then to run his hands up Brendon's legs again. He washes Brendon's dick and hums in excited contentment as it starts to harden in his hand; Brendon blushes but Spencer just kisses him, over and over, and getting clean after that just seems like too much hard work.

They kiss until their fingers go all prune-y and their skin is flushed red from the heat of the water. Then they turn the shower off and stumble out and onto the mat, reaching for towels to get rid of the worst of the water.

Brendon keeps shooting him these _looks_ , bright and excited and so fucking hot that Spencer can barely make words. He keeps wanting to laugh; he can feel it bubbling up inside of him, stupid and loud, and he can't stop it when he accidentally gives in to it and snorts a laugh as Brendon wraps his towel around his waist and then starts toweling his hair dry with a Snoopy towel. Spencer thinks it should be weird, _laughing_ when they've just lost their virginity but Brendon starts to laugh too, chewing on his lip like he knows that it's weird too.

Spencer rolls his eyes and gives in to it, laughing as he steals the Snoopy towel from Brendon to dry his own hair, dropping it over the edge of the sink when Brendon pushes past him and out into the hall, grabbing Spencer's wrist in his hand.

As if Spencer could say no to anything Brendon asks; he follows Brendon back down the hall and back into his bedroom, letting the towel fall to the floor as he joins Brendon back on the bed. The sheets are all rumpled and he's still wet from the shower, but he doesn't care, because Brendon rolls on to his side and wraps his arms around Spencer's stomach, resting his cheek against Spencer's shoulder.

 _So happy_ , Spencer thinks, and curls his fingers into Brendon's. He can't get over what it feels like to be naked with someone else, and be this close to another person. Rugby's the kind of sport where Spencer spends half of his time pressed up against someone else, the rough brush of their leg against his as he tackles them, the weight of another body when they take him down. Arms around each other and contact training - it isn't as if Spencer isn't familiar with being close to other guys. But this, _this_ , this. It feels like Brendon's a part of him. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to the way it feels to be this close to someone, to feel their skin, still-damp and hot, pressed up against the whole length of his body. To feel Brendon's dick against his hip. To be able to look down and see what Brendon looks like when he's not hard. He wants this forever.

"So," Brendon says, brightly. "What else do you want to try?"

Spencer snorts a laugh and lets Brendon clamber on top of him, one knee either side of Spencer's chest. Brendon laces his fingers in Spencer's and leans in for a kiss, sweeping his tongue along Spencer's lips before sitting back on his heels. His dick isn't hard, and Spencer wants to sit and look at it, memorize what he looks like like this.

"We should make a list," Brendon goes on, wriggling a little so that his ass rubs against Spencer's dick. Spencer isn't going to be able to resist for very much longer, and even as he thinks it, he can feel himself starting to get hard, his dick starting to show some interest even as Brendon continues to wriggle.

"A list?" Spencer asks, distractedly, because Brendon's dick is starting to perk up a little too.

"A sexy list," Brendon says, patiently. "Do you think I should get a pen?"

Spencer blinks. "Would you have to stand up? Because if you do then the answer is no. You have to stay here forever. It's a new rule."

Brendon wriggles, a gleam in his eye. Spencer can feel himself getting even harder, and because Brendon's sitting on him, Spencer can't do anything about it, can't even rock up against Brendon's ass.

"Hmmm," Spencer says, even though it's hot. He lets go of Brendon's hands and gets a hold of his hips, rolling them both over so that he's on top and Brendon's eyes are suddenly dark. Spencer presses back, so that it's his ass against Brendon's dick and Brendon is suddenly a whole lot harder than he had been a minute ago. Spencer - without really thinking about what it is he's doing - reaches behind him and circles his fingers around Brendon's dick. Brendon gasps out a breath and grabs at Spencer's thighs.

Spencer pushes back until he can feel Brendon's dick up against his ass. He rubs kind of gently, since there's no spit or lube or anything, but the tip of Brendon's dick is already a little slippery and it moves easily, stroking across Spencer's asshole like it's not the first time either of them have done this.

"Oh, fuck," Brendon says in a tight, high voice, his head tipping back against the pillows. His feet, Spencer knows, are sliding across the sheets as Brendon tries to get comfortable.

"You like?" Spencer asks, since he really likes the way Brendon's dick feels against his ass and he also really likes the way that Brendon's pinned beneath him and he gets to take charge. This is what makes him an awesome flyhalf; his ability to take control when required. He loves it. He doesn't know why he never thought to assume it would be the same when he was having sex.

"Fuck," Brendon says again. His fingertips are digging into Spencer's legs. "Want it so much," he manages, and Spencer is secretly kind of surprised by how quickly Brendon's gone from not being hard to being this desperate. It's the best thing _ever_. "Want you to do it to me, too."

Spencer tries to swallow. "Okay," he says, and he climbs off Brendon. "Turn over," he says, and Brendon rolls over quickly, hiding his face in the pillows.

It's harder than Spencer thinks to take a hold of his own dick and not jerk himself off. He's hard, and Brendon's lying face down on the bed, legs spread, and Spencer can _see_. He's never ever seen anyone from this angle before and it's so _weird_ , the way things look so different from the other way up. He reaches up and runs a hand over Brendon's balls, because he's only ever touched his own properly. Brendon shudders, pressing back into Spencer's hand, and Spencer has to bite back a groan as he strokes his hand over Brendon's ass, into the crease between his cheeks, and he sees Brendon's asshole for the first time.

"Oh," Spencer manages, and his hand hovers for a second before he swallows back his caution and rubs the knuckle of his first finger across Brendon's hole.

Brendon actually whimpers, which might just be the sexiest sound Spencer's ever heard anyone make. He has to squeeze his own dick because it's so fucking hot.

"Do it again," Brendon pleads, and Spencer will do _anything_ Brendon asks of him, anything at all. He rubs his knuckle across Brendon's hole, then switches so it's the pad of his finger. He spits on his finger and does it again, trying to memorize every shiver of Brendon's hips and the tiny, breathless whimpers he's making as Spencer continues to touch him. "Oh fuck, yeah," Brendon gasps out. "Spencer, Spence, don't stop." He shifts his legs further apart so that Spencer has a better angle to go with and Spencer can't help but think that this is the greatest moment of his whole entire life. He can't stop touching, ghosting the flat of his hand across Brendon's ass, his thumb stroking Brendon's hole so that Brendon whimpers and pushes back against Spencer's hand.

Spencer swallows and ducks his head. He presses a kiss to the small of Brendon's back, feeling the shiver of desire that spreads across Brendon's skin as he moves his mouth to Brendon's ass, kissing first one cheek then the other. It's the dirtiest thing he's ever done and it feels incredible. He keeps moving his thumb against Brendon's asshole and he doesn't duck his head and move his mouth even closer, even though he's seen porn where people do that. He's not at that stage yet, he doesn't think, but he keeps one hand on Brendon's ass to keep him where he is, shaking under Spencer's touch, and maneuvers himself so that he's holding his dick and almost but not quite touching Brendon's ass.

"Spence," Brendon whines, pushing his ass up, and Spencer tries to remember how to breathe as he rubs the tip of his dick over the curve of Brendon's ass, and then over his thumb, over Brendon's asshole. "Oh, fuck."

"Fuck," Spencer breathes, because he is rocking his hips forward, stroking his dick as he slides it back and forth over Brendon's hole.

"Spence, Spence," Brendon says, breathlessly, and for a split second Spencer thinks Brendon wants him to stop, and he's paralyzed with something like guilt and fear, but Brendon's only reaching for the drawer in his nightstand, and fumbling awkwardly for something that looks a lot like a tube of lube. Brendon passes it back to him with pink, flushed cheeks. The cap is already loose and the tube a little squeezed.

"You bought lube," Spencer says, because he has to say something, and this seems like a good start.

"I tried it out," Brendon says. "Fuck, don't stop."

Spencer swallows, and uncaps the lube, squeezing probably far too much on to his palm. He's never used it before, he doesn't _know_ , okay? He doesn't know. He wraps his palm around his dick and hisses in a breath because it's cold, and there's way too much and it's sliding through his fingers and down on to Brendon's ass. He watches in wonder before he's stroking his fingers across Brendon's ass and across his hole and Brendon is grabbing on to the pillow and groaning as Spencer positions his dick again to rub the head against Brendon's skin.

This is weird. This isn't sex, but Spencer doesn't know what it _is_. He wants to do more but this feels so good, rubbing his dick against something, against _Brendon_ , and the sounds Brendon's making are going straight to his erection and it's pretty desperate, okay, he's pretty desperate. He's a teenager and he's having sex for the first time and he isn't going to last long. But then Brendon reaches behind himself and he watches Spencer the whole time as he bats Spencer's hand out of the way and just—slides his finger inside of himself.

Spencer can't breathe. "Brendon -" he manages, but Brendon's watching him with dark, desperate eyes and there is still a finger in his ass. Spencer is going to come just from watching Brendon do this to himself.

"You do it," Brendon says, and there's a shake to his voice that he can't hide, even though he's trying, Spencer can tell.

Spencer tilts his chin up, and nods. He covers Brendon's hand with his own, and then he slides the tip of his finger in alongside Brendon's, and Brendon cries out. It's so awkward, this position that they're in, and Spencer wants more room anyway so he tugs Brendon's hand away and slides in a second fingertip next to his first. He moves them both just a little, just to see what it feels like and holy _fuck_ , it feels incredible. Brendon's muscles contract around him and it's so tight and so hot and he is actually _inside his boyfriend_ and he thinks his brain just whites out from this. He can barely imagine what this might feel like around his dick. He tries to swallow.

"Feels good, Spence," Brendon says, "feels so fucking good."

"Feels good to me, too," Spencer says, in a choked voice. "So tight, fuck."

"Another finger," Brendon pleads, and Spencer shivers in anticipation, sneaking in the tip of his third finger alongside his first two. It's just his fingertips but Brendon pushes back so suddenly that Spencer's pressing inside right up to his knuckle. The noises that Brendon's making are incredible. The noises that Spencer's making, sliding his lubed-up fingers in and out of Brendon's body, fuck, they're turning him on so much. He wants more than this.

"Brendon, can I -" he tries to speak but his throat's suddenly dry. "I want to fuck you," he says, finally. "Please, let me put my dick in you."

"You want a condom?" Brendon asks, breathlessly. "I bought those too, in case you wanted them."

Spencer imagines Brendon buying them condoms in preparation and his heart just wants to burst right out of his chest. He doesn't know if he wants a condom or not. "Do I?" he asks, uncertainly, careful not to stop moving his fingers. If he leans forward he can probably press his dick to Brendon's ass, too.

"I don't know," Brendon says. "We're both virgins. But—it might be - messy."

"I don't care," Spencer says, stoutly, although he maybe does. He wants to know what it's like to have his dick in Brendon's ass. He doesn't want the condom if Brendon doesn't mind him coming in his ass. Fuck, he has to grab his dick to stop him from coming. He's going to fuck Brendon, with his _actual dick_. All of these years building up to having sex and this is what it came down to, this moment.

"Good," Brendon lets out a sharp breath as Spencer curls his fingers in his ass. It's so hot and so tight and he needs this more than he needs _anything_. "Please, Spence, fuck, just do it. I'm going to come, Spence."

Spencer grabs his dick again. There's already a lot of lube but he doesn't want to go in dry. He squeezes more out on to his palm and fists his dick a couple of times before lining up his dick with Brendon's ass. He doesn't want to slide his fingers out but he does, and Brendon whines as he pulls out, pushing his ass back towards Spencer.

Spencer takes a deep breath, one hand resting on Brendon's ass, the other holding his dick. He tugs Brendon up until he's on his hands and knees, because it seems like it will be a better angle, and then he lines himself up. He pushes in, and oh _fuck fuck fuck_ , he'd imagined how this might feel but it's nothing to how it _actually_ feels, which is a lot like everything amazing he'd ever imagined, as well as _totally fucking weird_. He actually stops, because this is the weirdest thing ever. He has his _dick_ in Brendon's _ass_. For a second he doesn't actually know what to do now, because it's one thing looking at porn, it is another thing entirely to actually be _inside another human being_.

"Just fucking _move_ ," Brendon gasps, brokenly, and Spencer realizes Brendon's got his hand wrapped around his dick and he's jerking off, and Spencer wants to break apart into pieces, he's so turned on. He moves jerkily, unsure of how it's going to feel, unsure if he's hurting Brendon.

"Does it hurt?" Spencer asks, breathlessly.

"In a good way," Brendon manages, and he pushes back, "so come on, _don't stop_."

Spencer moves. He moves so he's almost balls-deep in Brendon, and he's leaving finger marks on Brendon's hip from holding on so tight, but he couldn't let go if he tried. His skin feels like it's on fire, sensation skittering across his skin as he rocks up and into Brendon, the lube sliding out and down his dick. Brendon's hole stretched around Spencer's dick; it's almost too much. "Feels totally awesome," he says, because he has to say something. Everything he's feeling is caught in his throat; if the words don't spill out he's going to choke. "So tight, Brendon, you're so tight -" Brendon squeezes down around Spencer's erection and it's only luck that means Spencer doesn't come right there and then. "Wanted it to be you," Spencer manages, because he can't stop the words from spilling out. "Always wanted it to be you, nobody else, only ever you."

"Spencer," Brendon groans, voice wrecked. "You have no idea what this feels like, oh, _fuck_. Gonna come, Spence, going to come."

Spencer rocks forward one last time, hot and breathless and desperate. He comes in Brendon's ass, and Brendon's clenching down around him and it feels so good that Spencer never wants it to stop. "Coming," he pants, because he still is. It feels, it feels _incredible._

He wants to collapse onto the sheets, but he's still half inside Brendon and when he starts to pull out there is come on his dick. "Oh fuck," he manages, and before he knows what he's doing he's wrapping his hand around his dick and then leaning forward so he can curl his come-sticky fingers around Brendon's erection, tangling his fingers with Brendon's fist.

"Spence, Spencer," Brendon gasps, and Spencer tugs him down onto the sheets with him, plastering himself to Brendon's back and tangling his legs with Brendon's even as Brendon continues to jerk himself off. Brendon's head tips back so he's resting his head on Spencer's shoulder and Spencer mouths at his jaw, at the corner of his mouth as Brendon falls apart in his arms, shuddering to a climax that takes Spencer's breath away.

Afterwards, Spencer wraps his arms around Brendon's heaving chest and kisses him over and over, sticky and messy and most definitely not a virgin anymore.

~*~

"So," Brendon says brightly, twenty minutes later. "What do you want to try now?"

Spencer snorts a laugh and tugs Brendon down next to him, cupping Brendon's cheek in his hand and pressing a kiss to his mouth. Brendon laughs into the kiss, eyes bright, and Spencer thinks, _I love you_. "You should get a notebook and a pen," he says, after a minute where he sneaks kiss after kiss to Brendon's unprotesting mouth. "We can make a to-do list."

"A sex to-do list," Brendon agrees, already tumbling off the bed and trying to find anything that might look like a notebook in the mess of his desk. "We have the best ideas."

"The best," Spencer agrees, sprawling out across the sheets. There's come on them, he realizes. Come, and lube. Brendon needs to wash his sheets. "You think we should work out a color code?"

"Oh, fuck, yes," Brendon says, grabbing his notebook and launching himself back on to the bed. "We should prioritize the ones we want to try first."

"Uh," Spencer says, taking Brendon's hand and pulling him closer. "That would be all of them."

"Well," Brendon says, in between kisses. "Obviously. It's a good thing I bought different colored highlighters."

"You," Spencer says, "are my absolute favorite, hands down."

"I know," Brendon says, sunnily. He clambers over Spencer, settling himself in Spencer's lap with his knees either side of Spencer's thighs. He pushes Spencer back so that he's lying down, all so he can use Spencer's chest to lean his notebook on. Spencer doesn't complain because Brendon's wearing his concentrating face, tongue sticking out as he starts to write. "I'm putting fingering you as top of my list," he says. "What's top of yours?"

Spencer covers his eyes with his arm. "You're going to kill me," he says. "Kill me _dead_."

"You love it," Brendon says.

"Love _you_ , you mean," Spencer says.

"That too," Brendon agrees, and then he leans down to kiss Spencer again. "You want to put blow jobs down as number two?"

Spencer thinks briefly of the hidden porn folder on his computer, and all of the secret stuff he'd downloaded and never told anyone about. "This is going to be a very long list," he says.

"Well," Brendon says again. "Obviously."

Spencer laughs, and pulls him down for another kiss.

~*~

Spencer is late to Ryan's house.

"You're late," Ryan says, reprovingly, as he opens the door.

"I'm here now," Spencer says. "Hi, Mr. Ross," he yells, following Ryan up the stairs and not bothering to see if Ryan's Dad is actually in to reply to him. He works long hours. "Why are you just in a _towel_ , Ry? You are wearing underwear under that, right?"

"No," Ryan says, dryly. "I'm entirely naked and it's all for your benefit. Shut up, I have underwear on. You think I'm going to go to the door just in my boxers?"

"You might," Spencer points out. "You've done weirder shit than that."

"Where's Brendon?" Ryan asks, throwing open the door to his room and pushing Spencer inside. "Hurry up, oh my god, I have like a million things to do and you were _late_. Where have you left him? Did you break up? Was it the sex? Was it awful?"

Spencer eyes Ryan suspiciously. "Have you been drinking Coke all afternoon?" he asks. "Or is this just you being nervous?"

"Both," Ryan says, hopping from one foot to the other. "Okay, I'm getting dressed. I've narrowed it down to this one -" he points at a brown suit with leather patches on the elbows - "or this one. Which one?" The second suit is a seventies tuxedo with pointed collars and an air of John Travolta in _Saturday Night Fever_. They are both _ridiculous_. Ryan has the worst taste in the world.

"Uh," Spencer says, stupidly. "That one?" He picks the _Saturday Night Fever_ option because it gives him time to dwell on whether John Travolta was ever hot or not. He prefers Kenickie from Grease, if he's honest with himself. He wonders if Brendon's ever thought about getting a part in Grease. That'd be _incredible_.

"Awesome," Ryan says, and starts getting dressed, hopping all over the carpet trying to get his leg in the pants. There is nothing, Spencer realizes, quite like watching Ryan do his best impression of a baby giraffe. "So, you going to tell me what sex with Brendon is like, or do I have to guess?"

"Oh my _god_ ," Spencer says, flopping back onto the bed. "It was _amazing_. I was amazing. I am a sex _god_. And Brendon does this thing that is really, stupidly hot, and I almost tried it on myself, and well, I started by doing it to him -"

"Shut _up_ ," Ryan says, blushing a bright, fiery red. "Don't give me the specifics. I don't want to imagine you having sex, it's like imagining your mom and dad doing it."

"Oh fuck," Spencer says, covering his eyes with his hands. "That's awful. Don't even say such terrible things."

"See?" Ryan says, darkly. "See?"

"Yeah," Spencer echoes, but all he can see is Brendon in his head, naked and breathless and the most amazing thing Spencer's ever seen in his whole entire life. "Want to know a secret?" he says, finally.

"Passionately," Ryan says, monotone probably laid on especially for the occasion. He finishes buttoning up his shirt, and tugs on his jacket.

Spencer rolls his eyes. "I love him," he says. "I am in love with Brendon." It feels good to say it out loud, to have it _out there_. It's real, now. It doesn't stop it feeling kind of magical to say it to someone else.

"Tell me something I didn't know," Ryan says, trying to pull on a sock without falling over.

"Okay, I fingered Brendon and it was awesome," Spencer says, promptly, one eyebrow raised. Shocking Ryan into silence is what he lives for.

Ryan hits him in the shoulder with his sock. "Give me my best friend charm back," he says. "Keep Brendon's ass to yourself, okay?"

"I am planning on it," Spencer says, in satisfaction. His phone buzzes in his pocket.

"What do you think?" Ryan asks, a minute later. Spencer looks up from texting Brendon and grins. Ryan is in his white tux with a black shirt and hideous, pointed seventies collars. He looks _awesome_.

"You'll pass," Spencer says, with a grin. He holds out his hand for Ryan to high-five. "Looking good, dude."

Ryan rolls his eyes, and sprawls out on the bed next to Spencer, kicking him in the ankle. "That's for telling me gross stuff about you and Brendon," he says.

Spencer snorts, and curls his fingers around Ryan's wrist. Ryan still looks a little shaky. "You okay, Ry?" he asks.

Ryan lets out a breath. "Yeah," he says, softly. "But—I wish he wasn't going, Spence. I wish he wasn't leaving."

Spencer shifts so that his nose is brushing Ryan's sleeve. "I know," he says.

"I gave him my summer box this morning," Ryan says, after a moment. He doesn't move, lying still and silent in the heat of the early evening. Spencer can hear the rustle of the blinds in the breeze from the open window, and the sound of them breathing, just the two of them, in sync.

"And?" Spencer says, after a beat.

"He told me he loved me," Ryan says, softly.

Spencer sneaks his hand into Ryan's, and Ryan shifts a little on the sheets, tilting his head back so that he's staring up at the ceiling.

"It was a good gift," Spencer says, when Ryan doesn't say anything else.

"It was," Ryan agrees. "The best."

"Did you say it back?" Spencer asks.

Ryan shakes his head. "This is why he's going to dump me," he says, so quietly that Spencer can barely hear him. "Because I'm a dumbass."

"Tell him tonight," Spencer says, because Ryan _is_ a dumbass, but he is also Spencer's dumbass, and Jon isn't going to be doing any dumping at all if Spencer has anything to do with it.

"Maybe," Ryan agrees. "He told me the box was amazing."

Spencer hums. "Tell him," he says. "Text him now, then you don't have to worry anymore."

"I can't _text_ him," Ryan says. He falters. "I mean, I could."

"You could," Spencer agrees. "Do it now."

"If I get dumped I'm blaming you," Ryan warns.

"You won't."

"But if _do_."

"Then you can blame me," Spencer says, in satisfaction. His phone buzzes again. _Come back here and take ur clothes of I miss u and ur ass_ , Brendon's typed.

 _Thought ur mom n dad were home_

 _Come back here and read harry potter with me instead then_ , Brendon amends, and Spencer grins, looking down at his shirt. It says 'muggle' in tiny text, right in the middle, and it's his new favorite. Another text arrives off the back of that one: _ur my favorite muggle spencer smith_.

Spencer thinks he's the luckiest fucking guy in the whole world.

Next to him, Ryan's busy typing out a whole essay on his phone. Spencer rolls his eyes, plucks the phone from Ryan's hands, deletes the message, types, _I love u 2_ and presses send, all the while elbowing Ryan in the side and trying to avoid Ryan's grabby hands.

"I hate you," Ryan says, folding his arms and dropping his phone on the bed between them. It's a moment or two before his phone pings with a new message, and he scrambles for his phone, elbowing Spencer in the face. " _Mine_ ," he says, and angles the phone away so Spencer can't read over his shoulder. "It says," Ryan starts, " _Me too. Ru ready? Will come and pick u up so mom n dad can take pictures of us and then I will take u 2 dinner and hold ur hand all night. Deal?_ " Ryan shows Spencer the message. "His phone autocapitalizes," Ryan explains, as if Spencer could give a shit.

"He loves you," Spencer sing-songs, as Ryan texts Jon back.

"Well, shut up, Brendon loves _you_ ," Ryan retorts, dropping his phone down on the bed, then standing up and straightening his jacket in the mirror.

 _He does_ , Spencer thinks, in satisfaction. _He really does_. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Ryan says. "Come sit outside and wait for Jon with me?"

"Okay," Spencer says, and he leans over to flick some fluff off Ryan's shirt. "There was fluff," he explains lamely, as Ryan narrows his eyes at him.

"Hmmm," Ryan says, and Spencer rolls his eyes and pushes Ryan out of the door.

"Shut up and go wait for your boyfriend, dumbass," he says, and Ryan snorts and elbows him in the side, the two of them jostling for space on the narrow staircase.

Outside, it's still hot in the early evening breeze, and Spencer stretches out on the grass, feet bumping Ryan's, who's sitting on the wall.

"You okay?" Spencer asks, after a while.

Ryan stops fiddling with his phone. "Yeah," he says, after a moment. "You?"

"The best," Spencer says, lazily, and means it.

Epilogue

Graduation day is hot and sticky and goes on for what feels like _forever_. Spencer gets bored about five minutes into the principal's speech about what excellent young men and women this year's class have turned out to be, and it's only Brendon's hand in his that forces Spencer not to sneak out and go hang somewhere more interesting. He's only here because Ryan wanted him to be, after all, and he has ages to wait before Jon files on stage to get his diploma and he can stand up and cheer like a crazy person.

"I am so bored," he tells Brendon. "This is so totally fucking dull."

One of the parents in the row in front turns round and shushes him. Spencer rolls his eyes and slumps down in his seat.

"I'm going to make a list of all of the things I could be doing that isn't sitting here," Spencer says, in a low voice. "Starting with _sex_."

"Spencer," Brendon hisses, going red.

"Starting with sex and ending with hamburgers," Spencer goes on. "Oh, and _milkshakes_. You want to go get milkshakes after this?"

"You are so embarrassing," Brendon tells him. "Shut up."

Spencer groans, and tugs out his phone. At least he can text people. He has Dallon's number in his phone now, and Dallon and Shane and Ian haven't had to sit through the world's most boring graduation ceremony today so he can text Dallon and get him to send stupid youtube links to keep him entertained. He's always sending them to Zack, anyway, and Zack forwards them on to him and Brendon.

Brendon leans over and plucks Spencer's phone out of his hand, and promptly sits on it. "Pay attention," he says, "or at least look like you are." Spencer makes a face, and Brendon leans over and whispers in his ear, "Pretend you're interested and I'll jerk you off afterwards."

Spencer blinks, sits up in his seat, and prepares to pay attention for the rest of the ceremony. Next to him, Brendon smirks, and Spencer sneaks his hand into Brendon's, just because.

~*~

"I thought you were going to jerk me off," Spencer whines, rolling over and pressing himself to Brendon's side. "I was going to do you, too."

Brendon blushes pink.

"I did not need to hear that," Ryan says, rolling his eyes. He's sprawled on the grass by the edge of the rugby pitch, head resting on Jon's thigh. Jon's lost the graduation gown and the hat, and he's leaning up against the goal posts with his flip flops kicked off and his pants rolled up like shorts.

Spencer makes a face, and hooks his foot over Brendon's ankle. "I have needs, Ryan. Sexual needs."

"And none of us need to hear about them," Ryan says. "If it wasn't so hot out here I'd kick you."

"I'd kick you back," Spencer says, but he doesn't move. It is hot, far too hot to do anything other than sprawl in the sunshine and look up at the sky.

"Are you going to miss this place?" Brendon asks, lazily shielding his eyes against the sun and passing his bottle of water to Jon.

Jon shrugs, and sneaks his fingers into Ryan's hair. "I'm not going to miss that fucking tardy bell," he says. "I'm always fucking late."

Spencer agrees. That bell is a pain in the ass. He reaches for the water.

"Yeah," Jon says, after a moment. His sunglasses are low down his nose and Ryan's given up letting Jon play with his hair, tangling his fingers with Jon's instead, hand above his head. "I'm going to miss this place. Miss _you_ ," he says, to Ryan. "Miss you most of all."

"I'll take pictures of him with my phone when he's not looking," Spencer offers. "I'll email them to you. It'll be like old times."

Brendon snorts, and wraps an arm around Spencer's chest.

"Do it," Jon says. "The more pictures the better." He sounds serious, and Spencer nods his agreement, _okay_.

"Hey," Ryan says, after a while. It's too hot to move, for real. "Do you guys want to come road trip with me this summer?"

"By road trip," Jon explains, "he means drive up to see me once he gets his car. It'll be like, a three hour drive."

"It's a trip, and it's on the road," Ryan says, without moving. "It's a road trip. You guys in?"

"Always," Spencer says, without thinking. Brendon agrees, rolling closer to rest his head on Spencer's shoulder.

"Me too," Brendon agrees. "I'm in."

"Awesome," Jon says. "You guys want to go get milkshakes? And burgers?"

"In a minute," Spencer says, and he stretches out on the grass, thinking about all the rugby games he's played here over the years, about the games he'll play next year, about how this time next summer it'll be him and Ryan and Brendon lying here in their graduation gowns, thinking about college. "What do you think about Penn. State?" he asks Brendon, because at some point they're going to have to figure out which colleges they want to apply to.

"Plays good rugby," Brendon says, nonchalantly.

"How do you know that?" Ryan asks.

"Looked it up," Brendon says. "What, you think I'm not going to check out which colleges play good rugby? Like Spencer's going to go to one that doesn't?" He shrugs his shoulders. "And it's got classes I want to take, too."

"What's the drama and music department like?" Spencer asks, because Spencer isn't going to go anywhere that doesn't have stuff that Brendon wants to do, too.

"I'm looking in to it," Brendon says, and curls his fingers into Spencer's.

Spencer tugs Brendon closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You're the best," he says, and means it.

"Yeah, well," Brendon says. "So are you."

Spencer rolls his eyes, and tries to ignore the way his cheeks still flush whenever Brendon says something like that to him. He doesn't think it'll ever get old.

Jon clambers to his feet, holding out a hand to help Ryan up. "Time to go, guys," he says. "I'm hungry."

"Me too," Spencer says, stumbling to his feet with Brendon beside him. Brendon looks pink-cheeked and happy as he straightens his shirt, his smile wide and bright. Spencer wraps an arm around his shoulders, and bumps elbows with Ryan. "Let's go," he says, and they do.

 

 **[End]**


End file.
